Cy in Chains (24 page)

The path plunged into thicker woods, went down through a low place where the ground was soft and wet, up again to higher ground, and at last into a clearing. At the far end stood a shabby cabin. Behind it, a falling-down barn.

“Stay here,” Cy told the others. “I'll go find Aunt Miriam.”

“I's comin' with you,” Billy said, grabbing his hand.

“Me too,” Mouse added.

“Naw! Get behind them big trees and wait. If anything go wrong, run like hell.”

Cy freed himself from Billy's grasp and took a few steps forward. When the door to the cabin opened, he dodged behind a tree and watched as an old black woman came onto the porch. She wore a shapeless long dress and was barefoot. Her white hair was pulled back and tied in a knot. Over the colorless dress she had on a bright red coat.

The woman reached the porch steps and stopped. She scanned the clearing and then, Cy was certain of it, raised her head and sniffed the air.

Cy felt himself trembling. Was the woman Aunt Miriam? There was only one way to find out. He came out from hiding and took two steps toward the cabin. Immediately, the woman had her eyes fixed on him. He kept walking toward her.

But he stopped short when the woman asked, “Cy Williams, that you?”

“Yes, ma'am.”

She nodded, satisfied. “What done took you so long?”

He wasn't sure what the question meant or how to answer, so instead he said, “I got two others with me.”

“And where they be?”

Cy felt sure it was safe. “Billy, Mouse,” he called, “come out.”

They appeared from behind their trees and stepped into the clearing.

“It's okay,” Cy said. “We's here.”

With slow steps, the boys advanced. Mouse was staggering with exhaustion, and his breath came in big, wheezing gasps. Billy rushed forward and grabbed on to Cy's arm. He began to cry.

“Aw, sugar, it's all right now,” the woman said, making her way slowly down the steps. “Aunt Miriam gon' take care o' you.”

Aunt Miriam
. They were truly safe, then.

 

What happened next felt like a dream, the first good dream Cy could remember having in years. He had to keep reminding himself that it was real. He and the others had hot baths in the copper tub Aunt Miriam filled, emptied, and refilled so that each boy could wash in clean water. She fed them fish coated in cornmeal batter and fried crisp—redbreast and sunfish caught in the creek just that morning. She set out slices of yeast bread slathered with butter and peach jam, and a salad of fresh dandelion greens from the nearby fields mixed with sweet lettuces from her garden. And then there was hot coffee, served with sugar and fresh cream. Cy felt like weeping when he tasted that.

Mouse nibbled at the fried fish, but clearly he had no appetite. Cy noticed Aunt Miriam looking at the boy, and her eyes showed her worry.

Billy and Mouse were tucked into bed together in a lean-to room off the back of the cabin. Only then did Aunt Miriam invite Cy to sit on the porch and talk. She brought out a corncob pipe from her apron pocket, filled it with tobacco, and settled down to smoke.

As soon as Cy sat in the comfortable rocking chair, he fell into a deep sleep. When he woke, at first he didn't remember where he was. Then he knew, but he couldn't tell how long he'd been out. Aunt Miriam was still there, the pipe clutched in her teeth, gazing at the newly greening trees on the far side of the clearing.

“How long I been asleep?” Cy asked.

“Pretty long time,” Aunt Miriam replied. “I don't know 'bout clock time, but you done had a right good nap. Feelin' better now?”

Cy did feel better, but as he looked at this kindly, strange woman, he knew he had to tell her all he had done to make it to her place. But she spoke first.

“Yo' daddy was all tore up when he realize what that snake Arnold done to y'all.”

“He knew? You knew?”

“Yes, child. Ain't much happen in these parts I don't hear 'bout sooner or later. I got my spies everywhere”—she laughed to herself—“and they report how Arnold turn you in fo' a couple dollars.”

“Somebody told me Cain had him killed.”

“'Deed he did! Can't say I shed no tears when I heard that.” She spat over the porch railing. “When word come, yo' daddy carry on somethin' awful. All I could do to keep him from goin' back to Cain's camp and tryin' to bust through the gate and kill that devil. I got him to calm down after a while, and I made him see that they warn't no use in throwin' his life away. He kept sayin' that he didn't care nothin' about his life, 'cause it didn't have no meanin' without you.”

Sadness washed over Cy, and he fought back tears.

“Finally, I got yo' daddy to agree that they warn't nothin' he could do. We jus' had to sit and wait to see what Father got up his sleeve.”

“Father?”

“God the Father. You knows: ‘Our Father, which art in heaven.'”

“Oh.”

“After some few days, we got word that you was alive in the camp, that Cain didn't whip you to death or send you over to Alabam'. I told yo' daddy best thing for him was to go home and that you be followin' along behind him when you was ready.”

“He went?”

Aunt Miriam put her hand over his. “Yes, child. Back to Louisville. I know that a long way from here, but the farther, the better. Ain't nobody gon' think to look for you up there.”

“But I don't know the way!”

“No more than the chillun o' Israel knew the way through the wilderness to the Promised Land. But Father show you the road.”

Cy wasn't sure about that. It sounded strange to hear Aunt Miriam referring to God as Father.

“And Daddy be there now?”

She nodded. “He ask me to tell you that he be there waitin', if it take you ten years to get there. He say he ain't got nothin' to do now
but
wait.”

Cy sat and thought things over. It warmed him to learn that his father had tried to save him and would have gone back to Cain's camp to try again, no matter how crazy that idea might have been. And now he was far away, waiting for his son to come back—to come home.

He could feel the old woman's eyes on him. He looked at her and saw deep compassion in the brown depths of her gaze.

“You ready to say how you and these boys come to be here?” she asked quietly.

He was, but having to remember felt terrible. Telling the story made it all come back again. Nothing would ever erase the images of Stryker's and Davis's faces, the open eyes, the blood . . .

Aunt Miriam showed no surprise, no horror. In fact, when he described the killings, she nodded satisfaction. “That Cain had it comin',” she said. “After all the evil he done. And the evil he let others do.”

“You ain't mad at me for what I done?” Cy asked.

“Should I be?”

“The only other person I knows who ever talked about God an' the Bible an' all”—Cy groped for the words to explain himself—“he always said that killin' is wrong, and we got to wait an' let God fix things.”

Aunt Miriam patted his hand. “Yo' friend had it right, mostly. ‘Thou shalt not kill,' the book say. But it also say that Father don't like havin' his chillun whipped and starved and killed.” She turned her eyes back to the trees across her yard. “And sometimes, when Father done waited long enough for wicked folks to turn from they evil ways and do right, he decide to fix things once and for all, and he call on us to do the fixin'.”

It was too much for Cy to think about. Aunt Miriam seemed to sense his uncertainty. “Don't fret about it jus' now. We got other things to do. They's boys on the run, and I got to get the word out.”

“How?”

“Come dusk, my grandson Simon be here. He check on me every evenin'. Been wantin' me to come live with him and his wife now that Aaron and Johnny Boy both gone.”

“Who they?”

The woman looked out across the yard. “My husband and son. Aaron died 'bout a year back, just plain wore out.”

“Johnny Boy?”

“White men killed him. Don't want to talk about that.”

“I's sorry.”

“Thank you, son. I miss 'em both real bad, but one day soon, I gon' be joinin' 'em on the streets o' gold, and then everything gon' be all right. Father gon' keep his promise, wipe away all our tears.”

She talked the way Billy and the others had talked at West's funeral.

“Simon'll spread the word,” Aunt Miriam went on. “He can get you boys started on y'all's way to Louisville.”

“When can we go? Tomorrow?”

Just then, Billy came through the front door, wiping the sleep out of his eyes. “Home?” he asked. “Daddy be waitin' for me!”

“Where he be?” Aunt Miriam asked.

“Jus' down at Moultrie! Only couple miles from here. We can go this evenin', surprise Daddy before bedtime.” Billy's eyes glowed with hope.

“Course you ready to get home,” Aunt Miriam said. “But we gotta go slow. When Simon come, you tell him everything, and he can check things out in Moultrie. Find your daddy and figure a way for you and him to meet where it be safe. Come tomorrow, they gon' find out what happen at the camp, and then they be lookin' under every rock and behind every tree and bush to find you boys.”

When Aunt Miriam sent Billy to check on Mouse, Cy asked the question he'd been wanting to ask all along. “Aunt Miriam, how you know it was me when you saw me in the yard?”

“Oh, yo' daddy tell me what you look like. He done a right good job, too. I knew the second I laid these old eyes on you.”

“But it been a long time! How come you still waitin' on me?”

The woman smiled. “Any man brave enough—or crazy enough—to risk what you done that first time, bound to try it again. I didn't know how or when you'd do it, but I reckoned you would, when you wanted yo' freedom bad enough. And here you is.”

“I got to find Daddy.”

“I know, sugar. Louisville a long way, but that ain't nothin'.”

Cy wasn't happy with what he knew he had to say next. “First, I got to help Billy.”

The woman nodded agreement. “I figured you say that, too. What about that other one—Mouse? How he get to be so sick?”

Cy told her that Mouse had never had any strength, and that the whooping cough had just about finished him.

“Where he stay, 'fore Cain got hold o' him?” Aunt Miriam asked.

“I dunno. He say he from way down by Florida, near some big ol' swamp.”

Aunt Miriam nodded. “Okefenokee,” she said. “Long way from here, and that child couldn't make it a half mile, the state he in. Maybe we could get him down that way, but I dunno. It's a shame, seein' a child like that already used up. A real shame.”

“I just want to get home. See my daddy.”

“Course you do. And we gon' do everything we can to see to it you gets what you want.”

 

Aunt Miriam's grandson Simon was a giant of a man with the biggest shoulders Cy had ever seen. He appeared just as darkness was settling over the clearing. Like his grandmother, he showed no surprise when he heard about what had happened at Cain's camp. In fact, he shook Cy's hand and thanked him. That made Cy feel better. So did the look of devotion on Billy's face as Cy retold the story.

Sitting close to a small fire that felt good even on a mild April evening, they talked until Mouse fell asleep in his chair and Simon carried him to bed.

The plan was for Simon to venture into Moultrie the next morning, taking Billy with him. Simon would look for Billy's father, and Billy could stay hidden under a tarpaulin in the back of the wagon. Billy liked that plan. When Billy couldn't keep his eyes open any longer, Simon led him to bed. He wouldn't let Simon carry him—said he was too old for that stuff.

Simon returned, poured himself some whiskey, and sat down again.

“Can I come to Moultrie with you?” Cy asked. The idea had been in his mind since Simon had first suggested it.

Simon looked serious, troubled. “I figured you might want to, but to my mind, it too dangerous. First thing tomorrow mornin', they gon' find out the state of affairs at that devil's camp, if they ain't already found out. Word gon' go out ever' which way, and you can bet they gon' send fast riders to Moultrie and up Tifton way too. Folks know me in Moultrie, so I got to be careful. I don't really want to take Billy with me, but I think we'd have to tie him to a tree otherwise.” He sipped from his cup and said no more.

“What is it?” Aunt Miriam asked him. “Somethin's botherin' you.”

“Granny, that boy say his name Billy Parrish, and his daddy name AJ.”

“And?”

“I knows just about all the colored folks in Moultrie, but I don't know of no folks name o' Parrish livin' there now. But that name—AJ Parrish—soon as Billy mention it, I knew I recognize it for some reason, just couldn't call it to mind. But now I remember.” Again, he was silent.

“You got to tell us,” Aunt Miriam said. “Ain't no good holdin' back the truth.”

“I know. But if I's right, it gon' be hard on Billy. What he told us 'bout how he end up in Cain's camp is most likely true. From what I recall now, they was a big mess in town some months back, and a black man made a big stink after his boy got arrested and sent off for stealin'.”

“Right from the start, Billy told us his daddy was comin',” Cy said. “Said his daddy would get it all fixed with the court, or somethin', and then come get him. He went crazy when his daddy never showed up.”

“He didn't make it 'cause he ran 'round town accusin' the sheriff and the judge o' framin' his boy. Got drunk and stood in the street in front o' the judge's house, call-in' on God for justice. I didn't see it myself, 'cause I was workin' at the sawmill up in Ty Ty then. Heard about it later, though.”