May the Road Rise Up to Meet You: A Novel (55 page)

Did you talk to your Momma about stayin’? Mary asks, as if all that news hasn’t sunk in.

Of course not. Do you see her? She’d never allow it.

Maybe if I—

But then they can hear her father’s footsteps in the hallway approaching the door to her room, and both of them bounce up off the bed and
over to her closet. Mary pulls a few dresses out and pretends to be sortin’ through them with her as her father knocks loudly on the door.

Justinia!

Don’t come in Daddy! I’m not decent!

We hafta go! Immediately!

We’ll be downstairs in two minutes, she replies, then looks desperately at Mary.

Now
, Justinia! her father shouts.

Help me put these dresses on, Justinia mumbles to Mary with a look of surrender.

She picks two of her plainest dresses out and hands them to Mary. Mary’s surprised at the random choice but says nothing. She helps her pull one then the other over her head, then asks what jewelry she wants to take.

Oh anything, Justinia replies. I don’t care anymore.

Mary goes to the vanity table and opens up the jewelry box, still thinkin’ about what’s going on in Juss’s mind, and not thinkin’ of how she needs to be packing for herself. She holds up a necklace that her father gave her years before.

You wanna take this? Mary asks.

Fine.

Then she sees the brooch that Lieutenant Farnsworth gave her for Christmas. She holds it up as well and asks again, You wanna take this?

Fine.

You gonna be all right? Mary asks.

Justinia only shrugs her shoulders and falls into a defeated posture.

I know what you’re goin’ through, Mary says.

And Juss looks up at Mary with sad eyes that turn doubtful.

How
could
you? Juss says.

Mary looks back at her, hurt by the realization that the closest person in the world to her these last twelve years doesn’t know anything about the man she loves. She thinks of how she’s heard every detail about every boy or officer Justinia ever batted an eyelash toward. Shouldn’t
sisters
, the way Juss always calls the two of them—shouldn’t they know all about
each other
?

Justinia!
her father yells again from the bottom of the stairs.

We best be goin’ before your father comes back up here, is all Mary says.

Justinia!
The scream is from halfway up the staircase now.

They open the door and walk quickly downstairs, and it isn’t until they’re standin’ by the front door that Mary realizes she has nothin’ of her own packed, and worst of all, the fifty-seven mourning veils she’s made over the last year are still stuffed inside her mattress.

Oh, Misses Kittredge, Mary says quietly to her, trying not to let Mista Kittredge hear. I only got dis here dress. Can I run an’ fetch anotha?

I had Cora pack you a bag to take, the Misses replies reassuringly. Of course, it isn’t reassuring at all to Mary.

Then Cora walks up behind her and presents her a big cloth bag that bulges at the seams with its clasp barely shut.

I didn’t know which dress you’d a like the mos’, so I throwed a buncha dem in there, Cora says in an unnaturally sweet tone. Perhaps freedom will make her a different person after all, Mary thinks, and takes the bag. Then Cora carries on like none of them have ever seen from her.

Ohhh, ol’ Cora’s gonna miss you all. You sho’ been good to Ol’ Cora, she says, talking in a way she never did before and looking at the Kittredges, who stand with confused looks on their faces. An’ Mary, she continues, I knows we had our mischief ’tween us, but Ol’ Cora’s gonna miss you, too, somethin’ fierce.

It’s about the strangest thing Mary’s ever heard from her, callin’ herself Ol’ Cora like that. And she thinks that maybe Gertie was right all along about how Cora saw her like she was a daughter somehow. But then Cora walks up to Mary and hugs her, placin’ her head on Mary’s shoulder away from the Kittredges.
I know all ’bout them veils you been makin’. Don’ worry, dey in dere too
, she whispers in Mary’s ear.
’Cept for five or six I kep’ for myself. Ol’ Cora’s gotta eat, too
.

She pulls back from Mary and holds her at arm’s length. You take care o’ you’sef’, an’ you take care of de Kittredges, too, now. Dey’s the bes’ Massas you eva gonna hope fo’.

Mary nods at Cora, doin’ all she can to suppress a smile, and Cora
doesn’t help matters when she winks at her. But then the Misses, overcome with emotion at Cora’s short speech, begins to cry again.

Oh, we’ll miss you too, Cora, she weeps, and throws her arms around her.

Cora looks over the Misses’ shoulder, rolling her eyes for only Mary to see. Mary can’t hold the laugh back completely now and lets forth a snort as she exhales, then quickly pretends to sniffle as if it’s tears she’s fightin’ back.

Let’s go, the train’s leavin’ in fifteen minutes, Mista Kittredge says.

They walk down the sidewalks carryin’ the small bags themselves, with the family trunk sent ahead. The Misses is still sniffling back tears, and Juss seems like she’s about to faint right there on the walkway. But Mary’s thoughts aren’t caught up with them for long, turnin’ instead toward her own situation. She gets to thinking about how this is no
trip
they’re takin’, like the one at Christmas a few years before the war. They’re moving, fleeing, and not likely to see Richmond anytime soon.

Almost lost in the noise of the train boiler building up steam, and the wagons moving quickly down the street, comes a low
rat-a-tat-tat
noise from a block away, the march-step of soldiers, moving toward them, gettin’ louder as they approach. People stop their carriages and step off to the sides of the streets, clearing a path for what might’ve once been a brigade or even a division but now looks like a broken-down regiment retreating through the city. The men are all in tatters, with clothes that are hardly anything that can be called uniforms—or even
clothes
, for that matter. At least a quarter of them have “shoes” made of strips of cloth tied together with string. Maybe half have no shoes at all. And as Mary and the Kittredges watch them go past, it’s hard to imagine that these men have lived through winter in the trenches dressed that way. They’re shadows of men, still marching in good form from habit, but otherwise lookin’ nothing like an army. There are no shouts from the civilians cheering them and urging them on again, and the men don’t even look from side to side, just straight ahead at the road before them, nothing about their appearance makin’ anyone believe that they can rally and beat back the Yankees once more.

It’s done, Mista Kittredge says quietly after they pass, shakin’ his
head in sadness. They’re not an army anymore … only delayin’ the inevitable now. Just wastin’ more lives.

The Misses elbows her husband, but it’s too late to keep Juss from cryin’.

I’m sure the Lieutenant’s fine, Mista Kittredge says. Those fellas weren’t officers.

And then Mista Kittredge goes off to find the railroad official he made arrangements with, as the Misses comforts Juss. Mary stands beside them on the platform, and now, finally, the reality of the situation sets in for her. As of that very moment, she thinks, Cora and the rest of the Kittredge slaves are free. No runnin’ off required for them. All they have to do is stay in Richmond until the last Confederate soldier marches out and the first Yankee soldier marches in. And they’re free, not in the runaway sense, but accordin’ to Mr. Lincoln’s law.

It’s not anywhere near the first time Mary’s considered such things. But considerin’ a thing and havin’ it stare you in the face are different matters entirely. And it produces some strange thoughts in her mind, like,
Why am I the only one not getting my freedom? Why am I dragged out of Richmond like that trunk filled with tea sets and lace curtains that I made?
And she begins to feel that she
deserves
to be free, that any obligation she might’ve had toward the Kittredges for rescuing her off that auction block has been repaid many times over. She’ll always feel a sense of gratitude toward them and genuine love for Juss. But now she feels that she should have the chance to see if Micah’s still waiting for her. She wonders if he might be thinking of her now that Richmond is falling, that maybe he won’t have married another or turned bitter toward her because she didn’t run off with him. Then when she thinks about how it’s been more than two years since then, she figures that maybe a second chance with him is too much to ask for. But her freedom is not.

I found Oates, Mista Kittredge says when he rushes back. We’re ridin’ in the eighth car, an’ Mary, you’ll be ridin’ with the cabinet minister’s slaves up in the third car.

He says it with a sense of prestige connected to the very idea of riding with slaves who belong to such high-ranking men. And Mary knows Ol’ Cora’d be rollin’ her eyes something fierce if she was here.

Oates says we need to get aboard this instant. The minute th’government ministers are aboard, the train’ll be pullin’ out.

He lifts their two large bags and turns toward the train, and the Misses is right beside him. But Justinia is slow to follow, and Mary wraps her arm inside hers and leans her head toward her ear.

Y’know, Juss, you don’t
hafta
get on this train, she says.
We
don’t hafta get on this train.

And Juss looks at her as if she’s spoken French to her.

What? she says. Daddy just—

Train’s pullin’ out any minute. Lookit all these folks around here. We can walk right into that crowd of ’em over there and get lost in it ’til the train goes.

And for a second she thinks she sees enough of a spark in Juss to go along with it, the way she could always get Juss to go along with things. But then they’re all startled by the sound of a shell descending frighteningly close to them. It whistles to the ground and explodes perhaps a block away, and there are screams from nearby and panic. Another shell follows almost on top of it and lands even closer, just a hundred yards or so from the train. At the end of the platform a coach pulls up next to the tracks, and they can see what looks like several cabinet ministers, and then President Davis himself, step out and toward the caboose of the train. And Mary looks at Juss and sees the answer is no.

This is it now, sir, a man in uniform says to Mista Kittredge by the door to car number eight. This is gonna be the last train out ’fore the Yankees come pourin’ in.

And Mista Kittredge pulls at Justinia’s arm, leading her onto the train to where the Misses is already sitting down. Mary can see Juss flop down on the seat facing opposite the Misses, looking toward the back of the train and beginning to cry again as soon as she sees Mary. Then Mista Kittredge is calling to Mary, snapping his fingers and then reaching for Mary’s bag when she is slow to follow.

That’s all right, Mista Kittredge, Mary says, I can carry it.

Well, let’s go then. I wanna make sure Oates told the attendant on that car up there about our arrangement.

And they walk through the confused crowd to the other end of the
train, a cargo car just behind the coal bins. There aren’t any seats in it, but Mary looks inside and sees well-dressed slaves sitting on their bags or on the floor, or on the large trunks stacked near the front of it.

That’s it, Mary, it’s all arranged, Mista Kittredge says. We’ll see you in Danville.

He watches Mary step on the train, then he’s off without waiting for a response, walking so fast he’s practically running, all the way back to car number eight. The steam whistle blows three times, and Mary looks around at the folks in the car, all of them with sad looks on their faces like they’re defeated every bit as much as the Confederate soldiers they saw marching down the street. None of them are talking, not to her, not to each other, just sitting there waiting to be taken to wherever it is their Massas say.

As the whistle blows twice more, Mary’s heart starts to race, thinking back to the first time she ever rode on a train, back when she was something like these folks here, beaten, robbed of any spirit, being taken to that auction block in Raleigh. Only now she’s not scared the way she usually is when those kinds of memories come to her. Instead, as she hears the steam pushing the locomotive wheels slowly into action,
hummph … hummph … hummph … hummph
, it’s like the sound calls out to her, bringing her back before the train ride to the auction block … back to the rhythm of Gertie’s heavy breaths,
hummph … hummph … hummph … hummph
, standin’ there in the Deep River, with Mary beside her while she’s catchin’ her breath …
hummph … hummph
. And closing her eyes, she can almost feel the cool water trickling through her fingertips again, and the images of being carried away, just her and Gertie off to someplace where it’d just be the two of them and the little cabin by the stream somewhere … and freedom, pure and perfect as that water …’til it’s almost like hearin’ Gertie’s voice whisperin’ to her when she first set foot in Deep River and Mary wanted nothin’ of it … and Gertie breathin’ hard …
hummph … hummph
, just to stand still there in the water, but reaching out her hand to Mary …
C’mon, Chil’, jus’ that first step gonna be the hardes’ one … hummph … hummph … then you be okay … Gertie ain’ gonna let you fall … hummph … hummph
.

And when she opens her eyes, a step is all it is—sliding open the
door—seeing the wooden platform beginning to run out ahead of them—the train moving quicker with every
hummph … hummph
 … until the locomotive and the coal bins pass the end of the platform … and a smile on her face now as she holds tight to that bag in her hand and takes that step, feeling the wood of the platform beneath her feet and then a few little steps to catch her balance—and
hummph … hummph …
the train still pulling away and nobody seemin’ to notice she’s not on it anymore.

Then there’s the deep breath of freedom to fill her lungs, and there are tears too and smiling besides, knowing what she’s leaving behind. She looks up at the numbers of the cars as they pass, five then six then seven, until the hardest one of all to see go. And there’s Juss starin’ out the window still, not seein’ Mary right away, but then, just for a moment, she can see Juss’s eyes go wide and her hand come up to cover her mouth. But just before it gets there, Mary thinks she can see a bit of a smile startin’ to form on Juss’s face, the kind that comes just before the tears. And she knows they’ll be plenty of those, but first that bit of a smile … something for her to hold on to and remember her friend by.