My Water Path

by Timothy Joseph

  BESS,MAYHEW, AND LUCILLA came to the stern of the houseboat when they heard the boat come into the cove. When the motor was turned off, three different voices said, “What happened? Are you okay? Is Jory in trouble? Are you hungry? Is everything going to be all right?”

  I stepped up on the deck and pulled Moses up with me. He looked at Bess. “Let’s go to the kitchen. Jory and I are indeed hungry. We’ll tell you what happened.”

  We headed inside. Mayhew took my arm with both hands. I looked at him and could see the worry in his eyes. “Are they going to take you away?”

  I nodded slowly and looked down. He squeezed my arm. “Oh, no.”

  Lucilla said, “When?” as her hands flew to her face.

  Quietly, looking out across the cove from the kitchen window, Moses said, “I have to take Jory to town in three days.”

  Bess asked, “What will happen to our boy?”

  Moses looked at his wife. He had a forlorn look I had never seen before, and his eyes were moist. “The police are calling the State custody people, and they will be there to take Jory to a State facility. They will find a place for him.”

  I knew exactly what it meant.

  “Oh, good Lord!” Bess said, getting up and walking to the sink. She leaned against it and straightened up. “You two must be hungry. I’ll make you a sandwich.” She busied herself. “Is there not anything we can do, Moses? How can we let them take our boy away?”

  I looked at Lucilla. Her elbows were on the table, her face still in her hands, and tears were flowing from her eyes. Her tears brought mine, and Bess began to cry as well. Mayhew got up and went to our bedroom, slamming the door behind him.

  Bess wiped her eyes. Lucilla said, “Why can’t we hide him?”

  Moses took a breath. “Because I gave my word I would bring him to the station. They were going to keep him in jail, but I promised. It’s the only reason Jory is here now.”

  “I don’t care!” Lucilla said.

  “Your grandpa has never broken his word, not ever,” Bess said softly.

  “Well, maybe this should be the first time,” Lucilla said, shoving her chair back and leaving the kitchen. She went to be with Mayhew.

  Bess continued making us sandwiches. I went to the bedroom. Mayhew and Lucilla were sitting on the lower bunk side by side, not saying a word. When I walked in, Lucilla slid over and left a space between them. I sat between my brother and sister, and they both leaned into me. I felt loved beyond words. Lucilla twined her arm through mine and pulled me in tightly.

  A few minutes later, we ambled back to the kitchen to eat. The conversation was all about the State people and foster homes. When I told them about Momma Birch (I didn’t want to call her ‘Momma Bitch’ at the table) and Matt, they were shocked. “And just how could it be better than being here with us?” Bess said angrily.

  “It isn’t,” Moses said. “But there is no possibility the State will allow a white child to live with us.”

  * * *

  The following evening, we were all in the living room. Moses had the little transistor radio on, and we were listening to music, trying to figure out how we could see each other after I left. I knew it could never be because I was going to be taken so far away.

  After a while of drowning in my depression, I got up, went to the bedroom, and retrieved my bank pouch. I went back to the living room and stood in front of Moses. He looked at me.

  “Grandpa, I want you to have this.” I handed the pouch to him, explaining how my dad had put away his money for a rainy day.

  “Jory, I cannot take this.” He hardly glanced at it. “It belongs to you.”

  “But I can’t take it with me. They will find it and take it away, I know. I want you to have it and use it for all of you. Please.”

  Mayhew, who had known about the pouch for a long time, said, “But you told me the only way you could run away is if you had money. You have to take some with you, just in case.”

  “I’ll put some in my sock and try to keep it hidden. Matt told me she steals the money he gets for doing chores for the neighbor. She says he owes it to her. She’ll surely go through my wallet.”

  Moses pulled Mayhew to him and whispered something in his ear. Mayhew turned and walked down the hall toward the back of the boat. He returned with an old pocket watch and some tools. The watch had a cover. Moses pushed on a flat protrusion and the cover flipped open. He took a small screwdriver and pried off the back, explaining to me how to do it with a pocketknife. In a few minutes, he had the face detached. He put the face back in its place, opened the pouch, and took out several large bills, folding them tightly.

  Mayhew gaped at them. “Wow, hundred dollar bills.” Moses placed the bills in the watch, set the back cover in place, and snapped it closed. He handed it to me. “I gave this old watch to Mayhew. It never worked, but he loved pretending he had a real pocket watch. It has a better purpose now.”

  He showed me how to place the bar at the end of the chain into a buttonhole to secure it, and how to put it through my belt loop, back through itself, and pull on it to tighten. “Just tell anyone who might ask that, even though it doesn’t work anymore, it’s a special watch because it’s from your grandpa.”

  I pushed the little bar through my belt loop, tightened it as he had demonstrated, and slipped it into my pocket. I looked at Mayhew. “Thanks. I’ll give it back to you one day, I promise.”

  “That’s okay, Jory. It’s more than a watch, now. It’s a bank.”

  Moses zipped the money pouch closed and promised to keep it safe for me.

  Bess worked on a quilt spread out beside her, a triangle of material carefully being stitched into place. No two pieces of cloth were the same size, shape, color, or pattern. Bess noticed me studying the quilt with fascination. She smiled, stitched, and said, “A quilt represents our life, sweetheart. Every patch of cloth is an event, a person, something important. Some are colorful, beautiful, and happy, and some are dark and coarse. Every circumstance gives us a piece of itself, some large, some small, all different shapes and sizes and textures. The quilt continues to grow as we sew each new patch into the whole of

  who we are. I’ll complete this quilt, but we will never finish our personal quilts until we pass on. And with that last piece, we will give those we love our quilt to remain with them in warmth and love—and it will be a patch to add to their quilt.”

  I scooted up to her knees, leaned my head into her lap, and held up a corner of the quilt to study its unusual beauty as I felt her gentle hand rest on my hair. I watched Moses begin reading, heard Mayhew and Lucilla talking quietly, and felt the warmth of Bess. My quilt was so much of this place, this family. Bess sighed and gently rubbed my head. She knew my thoughts.

  39

  Goodbye

  IT WAS MONDAY MORNING, and Bess was turning the bacon in the skillet—a sign that it was not a regular Monday. She was humming to herself, trying hard to be positive, but the sound was clipped, worried. Mayhew and Lucilla were quiet and didn’t know what to talk about. When we finished breakfast, Moses said he and Jacob were going to take me to the station. I went to the bedroom and got my backpack with some of my clothes and things, and I walked back to the kitchen. My stomach was killing me.

  Bess sat in silence, her hands folded in her lap. She looked up at me with heartbreaking eyes. I reached around her as she embraced me in her arms. Her hand smoothed the hair on the back of my head, and I felt the warmth of her face and neck. I started to cry, as did she.

  “Everything will be all right, son. We’ll always be here for you. You’ll be back soon, I just know it. I already miss you so.”

  “I don’t want to leave you, Grandma. I love you so much.”

  “I love you, my wonderful boy. You’ll always be my boy.”

  We let go, and Lucilla walked over. “I don’t want you to go.”

  “I don’t want to go, Lucilla. I’m going to miss you.”

  She looked down at the floor. “I’m going to mi
ss you too, Jory.” I wanted to hug her, but I knew she would be embarrassed.

  Mayhew came over and opened both his hands. I raised mine and we slapped palms. “I’ll be back, Mayhew. I promise.”

  “You better. It ain’t gonna be the same around here without you.”

  I tossed the backpack in the boat and Moses got in. I started the motor and Moses pushed off. I put it in forward and twisted the throttle. I turned and waved to Bess, Lucilla, and Mayhew. An enormous pit grew in my stomach; I felt horrible. I was leaving my family, a brother and sister and grandmother. I wanted to jump off the boat, swim to the middle of the river, and drown.

  I steered the boat to the tug at the wharf. Moses tossed the rope to Jacob. Jacob helped Moses to the deck and reached down for my hand, pulling me up. He looked at me with hard eyes. “I ain’t no happy man,” he said, “and we’ll figure something out, you hear?”

  I nodded as Max walked over. “This just ain’t right. No, sir, it just ain’t right. I’d like to beat him to a pulp.”

  Moses told them we needed to go. Max stuck out his hand, and we shook. “We’ll figure something out, Jory. We will.”

  “Thanks, Max.”

  Jacob drove us to the police station. When we went inside, the fat cop was sitting at the front desk. He looked up at us. “Well, I see you be a man of your word.”

  I was pretty sure he wasn’t talking to Moses.

  Moses said, “I’d like to speak with the State person.”

  “They ain’t got here yet, and it ain’t gonna do no good.”

  “We’ll wait,” Jacob said.

  “Suit yourself.”

  An hour had passed when two State representatives walked in, spoke to the cop, and he pointed in our direction. They came over and introduced themselves. Moses politely asked where they were taking me, how long I would be there, and where I would be living permanently. They told him they didn’t know for sure where I’d be living, but it would be a nice home.

  “I was raised in foster homes,” Jacob argued, “and lady, they ain’t all nice. If you think they are, you’re out of your mind.”

  Moses put his hand on Jacob’s shoulder to quiet him. He removed a pad and pencil from his shirt pocket. “Will you please write down your telephone number, the address of your office, and your names? And where you will be keeping Jory until he is placed? Thank you.”

  The two representatives looked at each other. Moses added, “We’re allowed to see Jory, and I do not believe his location is a matter of secrecy. We are his family, and we want to know where he’ll be.”

  The woman took the pad, wrote down the information, and handed it back to Moses. Moses nodded. “I thank you very much.” I could have sworn I heard his voice shake.

  Moses handed her the slip of paper, on which I had written down Stewart’s name and phone number at my dad’s store. “This is the man you must call first. He’s a close family friend.”

  “Very good,” the woman said. “We must go.” She looked at me. “Grab your bag and come with us.”

  I walked to Moses as he spread his arms, and I leaned hard against his chest as he wrapped his arms around my shoulders. I could not imagine leaving Moses, my grandpa, the most important man in my life. “You just be the good boy you have always been,” he murmured. “It will all fall into place, I promise.”

  “I don’t want to leave. Moses, I don’t know what I’ll do without you.”

  “You will do what you have always done. You will think things out and you will make the right choices. Remember the things we talked about.”

  “But I can’t—I can’t.”

  “Now, son, you know better than that.”

  I squeezed Moses has hard as I could. “I don’t want to lose you, Grandpa.”

  “You aren’t losing me. Nothing can ever take you away from me. Remember the awful storm on the Mississippi? We didn’t let it win. You and I fought it like a real team. We are a team no storm can beat back.”

  Tears poured from my eyes. “I don’t want to go, Moses.”

  “I know, son. Don’t worry. You’ll be hearing from us soon.”

  One of the State people said, “I’m sorry, sir, but we have to be going.”

  Jacob gave her a look. “My dear woman, a few more minutes isn’t going to cause you the grief you’re seeing here. Ain’t you got respect for a child’s feelings?”

  Insulted, she turned and walked away. The other woman glanced at her, then at Jacob, and she gave a slight nod. She understood.

  Moses rubbed the back of my head. “I love you, Jory. I will always be your grandpa. Now I guess you best say goodbye to Jacob.”

  Jacob gave me such a sad look. He came over to me and squatted down. “You just sit tight, good buddy, and Moses and me will be doing something, okay?” He stuck out his hand. I put my hand in his, and we shook twice. Then he pulled me in for a quick hug. He cleared his throat. “Moses and me will work this out.” He whispered in my ear, “And if’n we can’t, I’ll come by and break you out in the middle of the night.”

  “You promise?”

  He smiled. “I don’t know how we’re going to fix those cranky engines without you.”

  I managed to smile back. “Just remember, Jacob, you need to talk sweet to them.”

  Jacob rubbed the top of my head. Moses kissed my cheek, promised me again they would do what they could, and that was that.

  There was nothing they could do. I was caught, caught good.

  40

  Fugitive

  I CONCENTRATED ON WHERE THEY WERE TAKING ME, the roads we traveled, for I needed to know how to get back home.

  We arrived at a small office, where I sat with a kindly older woman who asked me a bunch of questions about where I had lived and about my dad. I answered everything, told her about Stewart, and asked if I could call him. I reached him at Dad’s store. He was shocked hearing I was in State custody. He told me to put the woman on. After a few minutes, she handed me the phone and Stewart told me he was coming for me and everything would be okay. When I hung up, the woman told me the State would allow me to stay with Stewart while they found me a home. About an hour later, Stewart came into the office. He signed some papers, and we left.

  Madge seemed glad to see me, but I felt a distance between us I didn’t like. It was late, so I went to bed.

  The next day, Stewart explained I would be living with a family, probably close by, when the State was able to find one for me. School was going to start in a couple of weeks, and he said the State would have my new home confirmed by then. When he asked me about where I had been living, I told him all about Moses and Bess, Mayhew and Lucilla, and the colored school. I wanted to ask if I could live with him and Madge, but I didn’t bother; he’d have to lie about Madge.

  Opening the front door of my house for the first time in so long, everything was the way I remembered leaving it—it felt weird to be back. I went to my room, and there was the photo of me and my dad in a rowboat.

  “Dad, you would really love Moses and Bess, you really would,” I whispered to his picture. “And they would love you, too.”

  I knew I had to go back to my family. I had to figure something out. What would my dad do? How would my dad make it happen?

  Later, I was at the store with Stewart. I told him I needed to go get a few things at the dime store. He took a twenty-dollar bill out of the cash register and handed it to me, asking if it was enough. I nodded. I headed out of the store, looked back to make sure he wasn’t watching, walked to the bank building instead, and slipped inside. I saw the sign on one of the office doors in the lobby, “Martin Hasbrook—Attorney at Law,” and started walking toward it when one of the bank tellers called out my name. She and another woman came around the counter, smiling. She told me they had all heard about me running away and were worried about me, and then one asked how I was and where I had been living. I told them I was fine and asked to see Mr. Hasbrook.

  He was also surprised to see me. I asked him if there w
as anything he could do to help me—I would pay him whatever he needed, the bank had my dad’s money. When I told him I wanted to be able to live with Moses, he shook his head, saying, “The State would never allow a white child to live with a Negro couple. I’m sorry, Jory.”

  My stomach dropped, but I pressed on. “But if Stewart or another white family were my legal guardian, would the State check up on me?”

  “They would have no reason to.”

  “I have someone who will take me. His name is Jacob Pilcher. Can you do that?”

  “I don’t see why not, but this will take some time. I need to get in contact with Mr. Pilcher to start the paperwork with the State. Do you have Jacob’s telephone number or address?”

  “No. But I can have him get in touch with you.”

  He handed me his business card. “Just tell him to call me or come by. We’ll see what we can do.” As I left the bank, three of the tellers waved and said goodbye.

  When I got back to the store, Stewart (who didn’t suspect a thing) told me the State had just called and I would be going to the foster home I had visited before. Mrs. Bitch.

  They would pick me up tomorrow afternoon at three.

  After breakfast the next day, I told Stewart I would like to spend the day at my house. I wanted to be there until I had to leave. He said okay and dropped me off on his way to the store. As soon as he was out of sight, I ran for the highway with my backpack.

  I stuck out my thumb to hitchhike. Only two cars had gone by before one stopped. I got in. It was a young couple. They asked where I was heading; when I told them, they said they could take me part of the way.

  They dropped me off, and I stuck my thumb out again. The first vehicle that came at me was a huge semi-truck; it stopped. I could barely climb up to the door. I got in and the driver, who had a full beard, asked where I was going. He said he was going the same way and was glad to have the company. We stopped at a truck stop to get fuel and something to eat. I was glad, because I seriously had to go to the bathroom. He paid for my hamburger even though I told him I had enough money. As we drove along, I asked him lots of questions about the truck, and in turn I explained how I worked on big diesel engines in tugboats. He reminded me of a little kid, with his enthusiasm to talk about everything.