May the Road Rise Up to Meet You: A Novel (49 page)

Then came word of Gettysburg, and a Fourth of July that was spent with nowhere to escape the discussion of the worst carnage the war had yet produced. That evening he brought Aislinn’s old Shakespeare book out on the lake with them, but they mostly just drifted and tried not to think of what so many of their friends were going through down in Pennsylvania right then. Until, as if attempting to rally themselves from any manner of gloom, Marcella picked up the book and insisted that they act out a scene. She picked
Romeo and Juliet
, and gushed out the words of the balcony scene with every ounce of juvenile fawning she could muster before passing the book to him for his line. By the end they had turned it into Shakespeare’s grandest comedy of all and in the space of those few minutes had restored much of the luster of this place.

But now, amidst the news of Harry, it’s as if they both know there’ll be no restoration to be found in a mere play. It’s later that afternoon, after a visit to the Stimsons’ to find out the latest news, that they walk down to the lake, and he silently begins to say goodbye to this place. Marcella is the first to broach the subject of returning home, asking Ethan if he’d like to visit Harry’s mother. And he only nods, conceding the inevitable.

We made a good go at it, he says.

And the water’s in her eyes as she squeezes his hand more tightly.

You made a wonderful go at it, she says.

And he’s confused for a second, before realizing that she meant the lads in the Brigade.

I meant you and me, he says.
We
made a good go at it, you and me, up here, I mean. It was nice … it was better than nice …

And suddenly he’s overtaken by a wave of ineloquence, ’til she laughs and sniffles a little, placing her head inside his shoulder, donning her ever-improving brogue for a reply.

Sure, we’ve only just
stahrted
t’make a goh’ve it up here, Mr. McOwen. Or don’t you recahll marryin’ a woman of
property
?

He recovers his humor amidst the echo of her words and replies, That’s why I
married
her of course.

Well then, Squire, she says, knowing how Seanny teased him with that very title, I’ll go back t’Brooklyn wit’ ya, but only for two weeks. There’s plentya work t’be done if we’re t’live in this house all th’year ’round.

And he realizes then that this is maybe the greatest thing they do for each other, not the humor or the way they can playfully tease in even tender moments, but the fact that their love always seems to act as a gravitational force, pulling each other back from the edge of great sorrow.

Well then, Misses McOwen, he says, ’tis quite th’hard-drivin’ business woman y’are. Two weeks it shall be.

When the mountains turned into hills somewhere in Pennsylvania, he worried at first. There was no more cover from the small towns along the way as he headed north. Gettysburg, Fairfield, Mechanicsburg. But in each place he saw something that he’d only ever seen once at the rail depot in Charleston. Free colored men. Men who didn’t seem worried that the whole Confederate Army wasn’t too far away. And even though he kept on goin’ north, each of those places made him feel something more like what must have been
free
.

He even ventured into the grand city of Harrisburg. Got some work
there building storehouses alongside the rail station. Kept to himself mostly, but did make one friend. First white man he’d ever think to call that. And only ’cause this man Ezekiel called him friend first, the way Quakers did it. First time a white man ever
invited
him into his house. Asked him to supper at his table. Let him stay in the spare room, for all those few weeks. And his Misses, Sarah, even knitted him a blanket with the verse from the Bible. From the Book of Micah itself:

And he took that with him as a treasure when the job was up in May. And Micah headed north again. Following the Susquehanna River, which Ezekiel told him would take all manner of turns and twists. But it’d take him all the way to New York. And without Mary. With the blood of four men still staining his memory. He wasn’t in such a rush to get anywhere in particular. Long as it was north.

So that was the path he followed. Up the Susquehanna. Free. Not running from anything or anyone. No haze, no fear, no coldness deep in his bones, like the last time he traveled the long, lonely road. And he reminded himself of all that, every time he could feel those memories trying to overtake him. He fished on occasion, hunted some, traveled some, rested some. Free as any man
ever
was.

’Til the river began to slither to the east and then the west and back north. Then side to side again. And south once, even, for the better part of two full days. ’Til there was no outrunning those memories then. ’Til moving forward began to feel like he was doing a penance for the man he’d been. The man who killed four other men. Not thinking any more about how three of them deserved it for sure. Not thinking how the first most likely did, too, Home Guard that he was. Thinking just about how he’d taken four men out like that. Like it was up to him to do God’s work. And worst of everything he thought about, on this long lonely road, was how he’d walked up to the top of Stony Man Mountain like he was gonna take on God. Make him accountable for what he done. For what HE done. Like God gotta explain anything. Like Micah
wasn’t raised by the Momma and Daddy he was, that’d taught him better.

Sometimes he thought of Mary.
Many
times he thought of Mary. Hours every day, at least. But it wasn’t the sort of pained yearning it had been along the Blue Ridge. This was the sort of thinking that made him wonder how he could change the man he had become. The man who had killed four men. The man who had challenged God. The man who had gotten so far away from what he always thought himself to be that he wondered if there was enough walking to do on this earth to make up for it.

When the Susquehanna took to getting all twisted around after that. West, then east, then south again, for hours instead of days, this time. He didn’t question it. Like it was a test from God. Like all these twists and turns were meant to see if he could accept the challenges he’d been given. And overcome them. He wasn’t even following the
Drinking Gourd
anymore. ’Cause this wasn’t a slave thing anymore. This wasn’t a running-off thing anymore. This wasn’t a Mary thing, or a Momma and Daddy and Isabelle thing. This was about Micah gettin’ right with Micah. Gettin’ right with God. And he’d follow that river for as long as it would take him. Long as God wanted him to. Long as it took for him to turn them swords into plowshares.

He became a decent fisherman and an even better hunter. Grew a beard long past his chin. Fancied himself a pioneer, on better days. And then, just when he felt like he was getting in good with things, he began to run out of Susquehanna. About midway through the summer by then, best as he could tell. The river just kept shrinking as he walked on and on. ’Til it ran into Otsego Lake. At a place called Cooperstown. And that was it. No more Susquehanna for him to follow.

He came upon the town first, thinking maybe it would be just another stopping-off point. But then what was left of the river trickled into as large a lake as he’d seen in some time. And he knew that this was all for now. Still with something left over in the way of being angry with God for not finishing the job. For not making this Susquehanna flow all the way to Canada where he was meant to go. To irrefutable freedom. And the Northern Lights.

And he stayed by the lake through much of the morning. Watching
all manner of white men come and go and not bother him at all. Not ask for traveling papers. Most of ’em not even suspicious of him. ’Til one came up in a small fishing boat and pulled it onto the shore. Stepped out of it and took a fishing rod from it and three
big
ones hooked on a line. Proud. Like he’d done a man’s work this mornin’ and brought back the supper for a day or two to come besides this one.

And he held them up to Micah, maybe thirty yards away, and smiled like a man would at such a moment. So Micah smiled back at him, nodded his head two three times. Then turned back to the lake, lookin’ at what God had done to his byway. But it wasn’t more than a few seconds before he could feel the man with the fish staring at him, closing the distance in meaningful steps.

Hello
. He said.
I see your fishin’ pole there … didya have any luck?

Nosuh. Just got here, act’ally, Suh
. Micah said, making sure to be safe.

And the man seemed uncomfortable with Micah’s response.

Ethan
. He said. And extended his hand.

Their friendship began over a discussion on fishing. Just like two men would do. With nothing like slavery or war or even
Yessuh, Nosuh
, to stand in the way. Each of them just a man, straight up. And Micah ate at their house that very first night. Ate the fish Ethan had caught, overcooked something awful by his wife. But still, he told them some of his story about runnin’ off. The safe parts.

Mrs. McOwen—Marcella, like she kept insisting—talked for one solid hour about everything she wanted to do to that house. Making it ready for winter first. Fixin’ windows and such. Patching that roof some. And such. But then the thing that brought a real smile to her face was talkin’ about the porch she wanted built. And Ethan laughed some at first, then a little bit more as it went on. Not in a mean kind of way but like he was wonderin’ how old he’d be before he got the half of it done.

I can do that. Micah said, matter-of-factly.

Marcella looked at Ethan, then the two of them back at him. And it didn’t take Micah much explaining to them how to build such a porch, before that was that. Room and board plus twelve dollars a week and the set of tools to keep when it was done, Ethan offered. More than Micah ever would’ve even thought to ask for. More than Longley or Dunmore could get on their
best
days hiring him out. They just offered it like that, straight up. A place to stay and be settled for a while. Cash to walk
around with, like a
free
man
should
have. And a chance not to be alone for a while. All that from one overcooked fish supper.

Ethan worked with him most of the time. He wasn’t much of carpenter. Said something about how back in Ireland the English had long since cut down most of the trees and brought them back to England. So there wasn’t much wood to work with. Then Marcella laughed and said to Micah.
Typical Irishman, he’d blame the rain on the English, if he could
. And Micah smiled at it, though he didn’t know much about the English or the Irish. They’d always just been white folks to him. Turned out some of them weren’t much better to their own kind than they were to colored folks. And that took some time gettin’ used to.

Some days Ethan took pictures of the rich folks over at the hotels along the lake. And sometimes at the Stimsons’ general store too, where he was hopin’ to start a business. They even used some of his pictures in the newspaper in town. And then there were some days, usually when Marcella was in town, when they both cut out early from everything. Went fishing out on the lake in Henry Stimson’s boat. Talked some, fished some. Read some too, since Ethan’d been reading on boats since he was a boy. Only instead of the Bible, which was the only book Micah had ever read, they’d read all manner of other things. Books from men named Shakespeare and Homer and others. But Micah’s favorites were Emerson and Thoreau. Men who didn’t go for any of this
be happy with your station in life
business he’d got used to hearing from white men. These were men who spoke of being
Self-Reliant
, above all.

Then there were the Stimsons, Olivia and Henry as they insisted upon, too. And Micah couldn’t have ever imagined calling so many white people by their Christian names. Or having them for friends. But that’s what happened. Dinner parties at the Stimsons’ house were always full of stories from the Underground Railroad. And Olivia loved to have Micah tell every person who hadn’t heard yet. ’Bout how he came all the way up from Virginia. With two armies standin’ in the way.

But the quieter dinners at Ethan and Marcella’s were better. Even if the food was never quite all the way right. Something always a little short of cooked through, or just a little burnt maybe. But not having to tell his story for folks he’d just met. Just talkin’ about whatever things came to mind. And laughter, too. Plenty of that.

It was the start of October when things were close to done on that
porch. And Micah had to think of what was next for him. Cold as the last winter’d been traveling up the Blue Ridge, he wasn’t thinking ’bout wandering north some more. And besides that, for the first time since Mary, he felt a sense of hope. Like maybe he belonged somewhere.