Freeman (53 page)

“Miss Ginny, surely colored people are more than practiced at keeping secrets from white people,” said Prudence.

Ginny pursed her lips, thinking. Then her mouth opened in a toothless grin. “I reckon they is at that,” she said. “And you right. Gon’ be a sight to see when white folks figures out what you up to.”

Prudence paced anxiously. “I need to send some telegrams. I shall have to go to Memphis and send them from there. For that, I will need to hire a wagon. I will start off first thing in the morning.” She glanced up at the clock on the wall. “Is the livery stable still open at this hour?”

“I believes so,” said Miss Ginny.

“While I am in Memphis I should also buy supplies.”

“You should make a list,” said Sam.

“And I will still need to send word to the Wheatons that I am prepared to sell.”

Miss Ginny laughed. “Slow down, gal. You movin’ twelve directions at once.”

“I cannot help it,” said Prudence. “There is so much to do. And the time is not long.” Another glance at the clock. “I need to get to the livery stable,” she said, rushing out of the room to get her bonnet. Halfway down the hall, she stopped, seized by a sudden impulse that turned her and flung her back into the kitchen, where she threw her arms around Sam’s neck, surprising him so badly he dropped his fork. She was aware of Miss Ginny’s eyes upon her as she squeezed him, but she didn’t care.

“Thank you, Sam,” she said. “You are brilliant. Thank you.”

And then she rushed from the room, hurriedly pinned a bonnet to her head and, for the first time since the awful night they had taken her sister and strung her up in a tree, left Miss Ginny’s by the front door and marched down Main Street, heedless of the intrusive staring of others’ eyes.

Let them stare. What did she care? Prudence had a mission and it impelled her down the street with her head held high. And yet even so, even in this moment flush with new purpose, some small part of her dwelt yet again in that awful thing she had done just a day ago.

Except that again, she wondered…was it really so awful? Was it
really
? She’d had any number of chances to turn away from the edge.

Yet she had not turned. To the contrary, she had flown like an arrow. And immediately afterward, she had felt
joy
. Recrimination had come later, yes.
Regret and fear and second-guessing, too. But in the abandon of the moment when she gave herself to him, there had been nothing in her except joy.

And how could joy be wrong?

She did not know that it could.

So maybe it was her fears that were wrong instead.

Maybe it would be all right, then. The thought of it made her decide to write her sisters again. She would mail the letter tomorrow from Memphis. There was one thing she had to know, one question she had to ask.

But however they answered, she knew that she was finally done with doubt. All was possibility now.

Prudence was smiling as the livery stable came in sight.

Tilda looked up, her smile soft and sad. Luke, tugging peacefully at her nipple, gurgled his satisfaction. “Greedy little boy,” she said. “Never gets enough.”

Sam said, “I suppose he takes after his father.” He stood by the door, the grime of another long day coating him, watching his son pull at the ninny, watching Tilda gaze down on their baby with all the love in the world. It made him feel cleansed. It made him feel new.

She looked up again, still smiling that smile. “So, are you going to do it?”

“Do what, Tilda?”

“Go to Boston with that white lady.”

He swallowed. “I do not know,” he said. “Perhaps.”

Her eyes shone. “You should go, Sam. You need to go back to the North. That’s where you belong. There is nothing but misery for you down here, nothing but sorrow for all of us. I told you that, didn’t I?”

“Yes, you did. You were right.”

“I’m glad you finally understand. Only…”

“What?”

Her gaze became pinched around the edges. “Don’t hurt her, Sam. All right? Don’t hurt her the way you hurt me.”

The words knifed through him, but what could he say? He
had
hurt Tilda, hadn’t he? Wasn’t that what this was all about?

Sam swallowed. “What about you?” he asked, his voice flinching. “What about us?”

“Don’t be foolish, Sam. You said it yourself. You are chasing something that ended 15 years ago. You are chasing time. No one ever catches time.”

“But…”

“No one ever catches time,” she repeated. “No one ever does.”

“It is more than time,” said Sam.

But Tilda was gone. And he was speaking aloud in the darkness of the old warehouse. He sat up, confused, knowing something had wakened him, but unsure what it was. Then he heard it again, a soft rapping on the door.

“Sam?” Miss Ginny’s voice.

“Coming,” he said. His mouth felt filled with cotton. He got to his feet and pulled on pants and a shirt, marveling at the ease with which he moved, an ease that would have been unthinkable just days before. All that time spent walking with Prudence had done wonders for him.

His feet bare, he padded to the door and pulled it open. Miss Ginny smiled up at him. She handed him a plate of eggs. “Thank you,” he said as he took the plate.

“How long you and Prudence been sleepin’ together?” she asked, still smiling.

Sam almost dropped the plate. “
What
?” he sputtered.

“You heard me,” she said.

Stalling for time, he stepped back, placing the plate on Prudence’s old desk, which he had been using as a table. Any number of replies chased one another through his thoughts, replies of anger, indignation, denial, confusion. But his heart was too exhausted for any of those.

“How did you know?” he asked.

“I ain’t no fool,” she said, following him into the room. “Anybody with eyes could see.”

“Have you spoken to her?”

“No. Wanted to talk to you first. ’Sides, she left this morning. Goin’ up to Memphis to send that telegram. She be gone most of the day, I expect. So: how long?”

“Miss Ginny, that is rather a personal question.”

“Love that girl like she my own,” said Miss Ginny. Her voice was taut. “That make it my concern, I expect. How long?”

He swallowed past the lump in his throat. “It was only once,” he said, “two days ago.”

A tight nod of satisfaction. “Didn’t figure it could be much more than that. You ain’t been in shape for such foolishment too long.”

“Miss Ginny, this is a matter I would rather not discuss.”

She ignored him. “You love her?”

“Beg pardon?”

“You heard me. Do you love her?”

“I do not think you have the right—”

She shouted it. “Do you
love
her?”

“I am very fond of her. We are fond of each other.”

“You very fond,” she sniffed.

“Yes,” he said.

“You walk a thousand miles for her?”

“What?”

“You say you love her, then she deserve that much, don’t she? Don’t she deserve a man walk a thousand miles to find her? This Tilda I hear tell about, you done walked pert’ near that far for her, way I hear. You walk that far for Prudence?”

“It is not the same.”

“Oh, it ain’t?”

“No, it is not!” he snapped. “Tilda and I were together fifteen years. We had a son together and we lost him.”

“So now you give up.”

“Do not do that,” said Sam in a warning voice. “Do not make it sound as if I did not try. You said it yourself: I walked a thousand miles. I had my arm shot off. I ruined my feet. I got beaten and stomped nearly to death, and I could not find her. She is gone and I have no idea what else you expect me to do. Shall I keep walking through Mississippi the rest of my life to please you, Miss Ginny?”

She didn’t answer. He looked down on the tiny woman for a long moment, weighed his next words, then decided to say them. “Are you sure you are not asking me all this just because she is white?”

He had expected to get a rise out of her. Instead, an expression he didn’t understand passed over her face like a cloud between sun and soil. And then just as quickly, it was gone. “She been through a lot, Sam. That’s all I’se sayin’. She don’t need to be hurt no more than she already been. Don’t hurt her.”

Sam started. It was the same thing Tilda had said in his dream.

“It is not my intention to hurt her. That is the last thing I seek to do.”

“Intention ain’t got nothin’ to do with it sometime.”

He didn’t reply. He couldn’t.

After a moment, the old woman said, “I know you think ol’ Ginny meddlin’.”

It was an opening, but he couldn’t take it. He still had no words.

She sighed. “Suppose I am,” she said. “I knows y’all ain’t no chil’ren. But I can’t help carin’ about her, Sam. You can’t ask me to stop. And Tilda…”

He looked at her. “What about Tilda?”

“Expect I care some about her, too, and I ain’t even met her.”

“You care about Tilda.”

“Yes.”

“Do you care any about me?”

“What you mean?”

He was surprised to feel tears welling and he mashed them away, embarrassed.

“Sam,” she began.

“Never mind,” he said.

She looked at him. He looked at the floor. After a moment, she said, “I reckon you right. I know what Prudence need. I can guess what Tilda need. But I don’t know what
you
need. Do you?”

He tried to reply, but his mouth had glued itself shut. He turned away, not wanting her to see his face, afraid it told secrets he did not want told. “I see,” she said. “Well, then, I expect that’s the question you need to get an answer to, ain’t it?” She put a hand on his shoulder. He half turned, looking into her ancient eyes. “I leave you to it,” she said.

He still couldn’t speak. So he simply watched as she left by the side door, which closed softly behind her. When she was gone, he stood there alone in the darkness of the old warehouse, his thoughts blurring through his mind too fast to catch or hold. He was not sure how long he had stood inert when he heard the soft nickering of the horse.

“Yes,” he answered, softly. “That would be an excellent idea.”

He crossed the room, leaving his breakfast untouched, and lifted the saddle from a bench near the makeshift stall. “Let’s go for a ride,” he said.

He had to swing the saddle high and drop it heavily onto the horse’s back. He had finally figured a method to cinch the girth, painstakingly
passing the length of one end of the belt through the metal buckle on the other end, bracing it awkwardly with the nub of his left arm and pulling it tight. It took a long time. When he was done, he stood up, a sheen of sweat covering his brow. He went over and shoved one of the loading doors open, leaving just enough of a gap for the horse to pass through.

Then Sam went back and untied the animal from the upended school bench he had used as a makeshift post. He had to mount from the right, grabbing a fistful of the horse’s mane and levering himself up into the saddle. Sam had cut the reins into two pieces, nailing them to the ends of a piece of chair leg about a foot long, making of it a bar that he could use to mimic the motion of two hands. He lifted that bar now, and nudged his mount around.

They rode through the open door. Sam paused just long enough to shove it back into place with his right leg, then urged his horse into a slow walk down Main Street. He felt the animal’s powerful flanks moving beneath him, saw the storefronts and homes passing him by, the river shimmering in the distance. He breathed the morning gratefully. It felt as if he had not breathed for a very long time. The blur of his thoughts slowed and lessened into one.

What have I done?

He had not meant for this thing to happen, had not even known the thought of it was there, lurking somewhere below consciousness. One moment, he had been himself and she had been helping him lower his body gingerly onto the cot. The next moment, she had been kissing him. And then he had kissed her back. And his life had turned itself inside out, all in that one inexplicable moment.