C. C. Antoine was the most influential figure in my life. His generosity was equaled only by his commitment to an egalitarian Louisiana, a cause for which he worked tirelessly every day that he drew breath. Those of us who served alongside Captain Antoine in the Freedom War, those who served alongside Lieutenant Governor Antoine in New Orleans, as well as, the lucky few of us who did both—we all were given the gift of hope in the rightness, indeed the righteousness, of C. C.’s doctrine. Such hope guides us in the face of opposition, in the face of disappointment, even in the face of heartbreak. Such righteousness, in the end, shall prevail.
David read the words aloud and imagined hearing them in his grandfather’s voice rather than his own. He read them again, and then a third time. There was a footnote that tightened his throat.
Andrew Samuel Dyer. b. 11 February 1850, Port Barre, Louisiana; d. 15 November 1924, Caddo Parish, Louisiana. Union Army Corporal, 7th Regiment Infantry, Louisiana, African descent. Corporal Dyer, arguably one of the most highly skilled shooters on either side during the American Civil War, served on Lieutenant Governor Antoine’s staff in New Orleans during Reconstruction. He retired to Caddo Parrish following the Democrats’ return to power in Louisiana State government. Corporal Dyer is laid to rest beside his wife, Lillian (née Cordova), in Port Barre, Louisiana.
Gramps was at last reunited with his wife and best friend. He had spoken of their reunion countless times. Pretty Mama, Gramps’s pet name for the grandmother David had never met, had died of yellow fever before David was born. Oftentimes, David heard Gramps say, “When I see Pretty Mama again, I’m gonna tell her . . . ,” or “I’m gonna ask her . . . ,” or “Pretty Mama’s gonna laugh when she hears . . . .” Gramps always spoke about his wife as if their parting were temporary, a brief inconvenience in a timeless friendship. David never forgot the certainty with which Gramps believed they would enjoy each other’s company again. He was glad that Gramps and Pretty Mama were planted together in Port Barre, so they could come up together when the trumpet sounded and the dead came forth.
David thought about Gramps’s passing for a long time. He thought about everything that had happened since the Indian summer day thirteen years before. In the quiet of a library stockroom on a December afternoon, David wept, as he’d done so many times before, and no one came to bother him at all.
After the Christmas break, when David and Zachary returned to the campus from the farm, David took an interest in a tall, thin girl who had frequented the library for several years. David could not explain why this girl, Cargie Pittman, suddenly commanded his attention after he had been indifferent to her comings and goings for so long. But one day he watched with interest as she came into the library, opened her book, adjusted the light on it, and began reading, running her finger across the text. David walked to her table and waited for her to notice him. Finally she looked up.
“Hello,” she said.
“May I?” he asked, pointing to the chair opposite her. She nodded, and he sat down. He reached his hand across the table, and Cargie extended hers to meet it.
“I’m Thomas Barre,” he said without a moment’s hesitation. The name just popped right out.
She withdrew her hand before they touched fingers. Her eyes narrowed. “Why does everybody call you Jacob?”
“Let me buy you a milkshake, and I’ll tell you how I came by that nickname.”
Cargie smiled then. She had a good smile, full of mischief. And so they went for a milkshake that very night. And the next night. And the one after that.
Cargie Pittman listened to David’s stories about everything from cotton farming to house building to tutoring college students. She listened patiently while he talked about his favorite novelists and poets. David listened while Cargie aired her opinions about her classes and the business practices she was learning. She had a memory like none other and could quote long passages from her textbooks.
She’s a genius, David thought, as he sipped a malty chocolate milkshake and listened. He thought it would be an adventure to see what such a mind might do, given time and opportunity. Though Cargie was plain of face, though she was too tall and too thin, to David she was lovely, dark, and deep.
Winter led to spring, and Cargie’s company became as familiar as David’s own skin. In fact, he didn’t quite feel like himself anymore when they were apart. Her presence comforted him, the way watching his mother fix supper had comforted him when he was a boy. David believed this was what love was, so he asked Cargie to marry him.
David and Cargie talked about practical things, such as where they would live. They kept their most deeply held regrets, desires, and dreams to themselves. They both believed a person’s heart, like the past, ought to remain tucked away out of sight rather than worn on one’s sleeve. But even though they did not voice them, their private longings thrived. Cargie dreamed about getting a job as a bookkeeper. David dreamed about his family, beckoning to him from a misty horizon. Waiting patiently for him to catch up to them.
Stork Bite Page 40
