Rush Home Road

by Lori Lansens

  Addy found sets of summer shorts and tops at a good price and three bags of white underpants in girls’ large. She chose a nightdress with a kitten on it because Sharla said it was just like her old one, and after some debate they settled on a pair of white t-strap sandals and pink canvas sneakers. Addy’d put the return cab fare in a small compartment in her purse so she wouldn’t forget and spend it, and when all was bought and paid for, they had just enough for lunch in the cafeteria.

  The orange plastic trays were greasy. Sharla and Addy took one to share and got in line behind a tired young family. Sharla pointed at some smooth chocolate Whip’n’Chill in a tall fluted glass. Addy shook her head, then remembered what Sharla told her about Emilio taking away her Dilly Bar. She put the dessert on the tray, saying, “But you’re gonna have a samwich too.”

  When they got to the steam table section, Addy looked up and told the scrawny woman behind the counter, “I’ll have the split-pea soup, please.”

  The woman chewed some dirt in her thumbnail and glanced over her shoulder into the kitchen. “Have to wait. It’s just coming off the stove.” They waited. People moved around them in the line. Sharla looked at the dessert on the orange tray. “Can’t we go?”

  “Have to be patient, Child. They’re getting my soup off the stove.”

  Sharla watched her feet in the new white t-strap sandals, which Addy’d asked if she could wear right away. More people moved around them and the scrawny woman seemed to have forgotten why they were waiting. “Excuse me, Miss. Miss? I’m still waiting on that soup.”

  The woman rolled her eyes and went around the corner into the kitchen. Addy could see her approach the cook and everyone in the cafeteria line heard her say, “Will one of yas get that nigger woman her split-pea soup?”

  People turned. Sharla looked worried. The pea soup came, the woman smiling falsely and unaware. Addy felt weary as she paid for the lunch and led Sharla to an empty booth.

  “That’s a bad word,” Sharla said quietly.

  “Mmm-hmm. She’s a ignorant woman.”

  “Emilio said I’m half that word.”

  Addy took a long look at Sharla, wanting to ask if she knew her Daddy was coloured, then she remembered what Bonita Berry said and changed her mind. “Only ignorant people say that word, Sharla. The right word to say is black.”

  “Black?”

  “That’s right.”

  Sharla ran her fingers over Mum Addy’s hand. “You ain’t black but brown though.” The little girl looked concerned when she found a long dark spike buried in the flesh of Mum Addy’s palm. “What’s that?”

  “Just a wood splinter.”

  “Can’t you get it out?”

  “No.”

  “Not with a needle?”

  “Too late for a needle, Sharla. Skin’s grown over it twenty times. The splinter’s a part of me now.”

  “Still hurt?”

  “Sometimes. Mmm-hmm.”

  Sharla shrugged and dug her spoon into her chocolate fluff. Addy lit a cigarette and didn’t say eat the sandwich first.

  Kidney Pie

  RUSHOLME ROAD WAS THE only main road that led out of town. The road forked and a small signpost with arrows pointed the way: Chatham to the northeast, Windsor and Sandwich to the west. Addy could just barely read the words in the dusk. She had already decided on Windsor because her father worked in Chatham and she couldn’t bear the thought that she might run into him there. When she heard a coyote yowl in the distance, she would not let herself be afraid. She had to move forward and only under cover of darkness.

  Addy had stayed in the bushes until the final hymn was sung for Leam, and though she was exhausted, her stomach cramping and sore, she couldn’t move on before she had seen her brother’s body committed to the ground. She’d watched the Pastor sprinkle Leam’s casket with earth and thought how oddly pretty the scene was. The mourners were a cluster of small black trees, swaying with grief, then floating away, one by one, until only her mother remained, alone at the graveside, puny and stooped, her eyes on the fresh-dug earth.

  As she watched her mother, Addy summoned all her strength not to run to Laisa. She knew it would make no difference anyway. She’d never turn away a child the way Laisa had done. And never hate a child like her father had done. She stayed hidden in the bush and smoothed her hands over the baby in her belly.

  When finally her mother left the graveyard and started her long walk back home, Addy rose from her hiding place and made her way to the Pastor’s residence beside the church. She knew the Pastor’d be at the little house on Fowell Street, feasting on the pies and cakes the neighbours would have brought. She also knew that his own pantry would be fuller than most.

  As she let herself in the back door and crept into the Pastor’s house, Addy felt strangely unafraid. Leam would warn her if she were in danger of being found gnawing on a hamhock or munching an apple. She filled her mouth with bread and butter and found a cloth sack near the back door. She crammed the sack to bursting with biscuits and jars of peaches and thick smoked meat and potatoes. She tried to lift the bag but it was much too heavy, so she took out the peaches and most of the potatoes, then hoisted the thing over her shoulder. Realizing she was already cold and that when night fell she was likely to freeze to death, Addy took one of the Pastor’s black wool coats and one of his dark hats from a hook by the door. She did not think to ask forgiveness for her thieving as she set out from the house, warm and sated and dressed like a man of God.

  The north wind was sharp and dark clouds rolled overhead as Addy put one foot in front of the other on the long road to Windsor. There were ditches on either side of the road, deep and muddy from yesterday’s heavy rain. Addy was prepared to duck into the ditches in the unlikely event she encountered an automobile. At this time of year, with the last of the crops long ago carted off to the market and canning factory, it’d be unusual for anyone to be motoring in or out of Rusholme at night. No one but Teddy Bishop had much reason to leave Rusholme after dark.

  In the back of her mind, Addy wondered if her father might have sent the constabulary from Chatham after her. Her father held her responsible for the tragedies, as did most of the town, and Addy feared being sent to prison for the murder of her brother and Chester and Zach Heron too. Best, she thought, not to be seen.

  The Pastor’s wool coat was much too large for her and all the warmer because of it. The black hat fell over her eyes and she cursed it until she tore it off and the bitter wind filled her ears. The sack of food was still too heavy, so she reached inside and found a big potato. She ate it like an apple and thought it tasted good. She could not have known when she dressed yesterday morning that life would set her on this path, but if she had she would have chosen her field boots and not the thin-soled lace-up shoes that she wore inside the house. Her feet were already sore and swollen and she knew she’d be walking until the sun rose and then some.

  The night was so black that Addy could not see her hand an inch from her face. She had to walk slowly and was cross at that because she only had so many steps in her legs, and small ones were nothing but wasteful. She coaxed her feet toward the edge of the gravel so she could feel she was on the road and counted her wasteful little steps to distract her mind from pain.

  She tried to hum but she had no song. She tried to dream but couldn’t think what to dream of. In her other life, she dreamt of Chester and their wedding day, and her friendship with Birdie Brown, and Leam, and how they’d all grow old together and watch their grandbabies splash in the lake. Addy forced herself to think of her future and what might become of her after she reached Windsor. She would birth Zach Heron’s baby, that was certain, but where and how would she raise her child to grown? And where and how would she live out her days? Would she be loved again? Would she be hiding always?

  She reckoned there must be a few coloured people in Windsor. She thought she might try to find the coloured church and appeal to the Pastor. Or maybe a kind old coloured woman, a widow, who
might be glad for the company and help in the kitchen. Addy wasn’t sure what gave her faith, but she did have faith that someone would help her and her baby to be born. Her faith grew even stronger when she stuck her cold hand in the black coat pocket and found what she knew was a thick roll of money. She suspected the Pastor took the money from the church coffer and couldn’t know how right she was. But she was eager to see it and count it and would when there was daylight. For the moment, she felt saved.

  She’d been thinking all those thoughts, feeling her burden lighten, when a twig snapped in the ditch ahead of her and her heart went thud in her ears. She stopped, looking into the darkness of the ditch, but could not see any animal. She whispered, “Who’s there?”

  The thing that answered was not human. Another twig snapped and she knew whatever it was, it wasn’t afraid of her, but just hungry and wild. Addy imagined it was a huge black dog ready to attack. Or maybe it was a smaller animal, a raccoon or badger or fox, whose bite she could die from. The animal started up from the ditch and even in the blackness Addy could see the white streak. She stood paralysed. If she frightened the skunk it would spray, and to be sprayed by a skunk was a terrible thing.

  The white streak approached. Addy watched until the animal was within a foot of her own foot, then with a short scream she began to run. Almost right away she tripped and tumbled back into the muddy ditch. She cursed, for she’d hurt her hip and lost a few potatoes from her sack. She rose, letting the mud drip from her hands and her big black coat. Another twig snapped behind her and she turned to find the curious skunk approaching once again. She ran as fast as she could run carrying the weight of her baby and her sack of food, and it was another half-mile before she felt safe enough to stop and catch her breath.

  She silently thanked Leam for his help escaping the skunk, for he’d become Godly to her in his death. When her heart slowed down some, she started to walk again. Still taking the small steps forward, she realized there were two words beating with her heart, rush, home, rush, home, rush, home. But Addy would not look back.

  After hours and hours of walking, Addy realized the sun had begun its ascent behind the grey clouds, and she could see her hands in front of her face and her black coat covered in mud. The woods had given way to farmland and Addy knew she must be close to Windsor. She kept walking, wondering with each step if she could take another.

  There was a farm truck heading her way but she had not the strength to hide in the ditch. If the white men in the truck knew about her and wanted to take her to prison that’s just how it was going to be. Although the men in the truck did look at her sideways, they did not stop. Addy wondered if Windsor was such an unusual place that muddy girls in men’s clothes were often seen staggering by the side of the road.

  Another truck passed by and then a fancy auto carrying a white-haired old woman and a man in a dark suit. They did stare, but also drove on without stopping. Addy could still see only farms in the distance and wondered when, if ever, she would arrive in Windsor. She knew that Rusholme was a rare place in that it had once been, and still was, mostly coloured. She didn’t know how life was for coloured people outside of her town, how many there were, and where they might all live. It occurred to her that maybe there was no coloured church here and no coloured widow lady who’d want to take her in.

  It was then that Addy glanced to the left and saw the tiny brown boy watching her from inside a big barn door. She felt it was a miracle and waved her black hat, shouting, “You there!”

  The small boy disappeared into the barn and left her wondering if she’d seen him at all. After a moment, a tall, broad-shouldered woman Addy judged to be the boy’s mother appeared. She had a stern look on her face as she set her hands on her wide round hips. Addy was standing on the stone lane leading up to the barn and did not know what to do. The big woman did not smile or wave but called out crossly, “What you want, Girl?”

  Addy opened her mouth to speak, but something touched her forehead and she was sure it was the cool finger of the Lord. She felt another touch and another and she realized it was snowflakes, the first of the season. She looked up into the close sky where the snowflakes seemed big and heavy as maple leaves. They fell into her eyes and her wide-open mouth. She dropped her sack of food and closed her eyes. She meant to open her eyes again but they must have been stuck, for the blackness stayed and there was a sharp white pain, then nothing.

  WHEN ADDY OPENED HER eyes again, she was lying in a small bed, covered by a damp urine-smelling blanket. There was a pint-sized white man with sunburned skin and orange hair standing over her. She had never seen such a man in her life and thought he looked like an orange-haired devil. The man said nothing but watched her with his see-through blue eyes, shook his head, and disappeared. Addy closed her eyes again and longed to return to wherever she’d just been. She felt an icy palm on her forehead and forced herself to open her eyes again.

  The icy hand belonged to the big woman she’d seen in the barn. The woman did not smile and was not tender, but drew the blanket up around Addy’s chin and left the room once more. Addy shivered and looked at herself under the covers. Her black coat and hat and even her shoes were somewhere else but she was glad to see she was still dressed. Addy looked around the room. It was so small that if she stood, she could touch both walls at once. When she noticed a small wardrobe open in the corner and inside it some children’s clothes, she wondered if this was the room of the little brown boy.

  Addy’s hip ached from her tumble in the ditch. She could not have moved her legs to rise even if she had a mind to. She shut her eyes again when she heard movement outside the door. The big woman’s voice was heavy and her manner curt. “Time to open them eyes now, Girl.”

  Addy did as she was told and watched the woman carry a steamy bowl of something toward her. The woman rested her bulk on a chair by the bed, telling Addy, “Sit up. Sit up now and get this broth down you.”

  Addy’s arms moved on command but she could not use them to pull the rest of her to sitting. Annoyed, the woman set down the bowl and hefted the girl up to lean against the headboard. The woman smelled like a man. She had arms and hands as big as a man, wiry grey whiskers on her chin and curly dark ones jutting out her nostrils. She picked up the bowl of soup again, ordering, “Get some of this broth down you.”

  Addy couldn’t see a spoon in the woman’s hand and wondered how she meant for her to drink the broth, until the woman set the chipped bowl to Addy’s lip and tilted it up. Addy let the hot liquid into her mouth. It was salty and beef-tasting and there was nothing solid in it to worry she couldn’t keep down.

  Images rained on Addy’s head until they collected in a puddle and she remembered what all had happened to her. As if the woman knew her thoughts, she said, “You near passed right here on Mr. MacLeod’s laneway.”

  Addy nodded slightly and let the woman tilt the bowl to her lips once more. She thought to ask, “Am I in Windsor?”

  The woman shook her head. “Windsor a few miles down the road yet. We’re closer to Sandwich. This here is Mr. MacLeod’s farm. It’s one of the biggest in the county.”

  Addy looked around the tiny room. The woman said, “This the house out back. This where my husband, Morris, and my children live.”

  Addy nodded, feeling stronger from the broth. She took the bowl in her own hands now and drank it in gulps. The plump woman stopped her, saying, “Slow. Drink it slow.” Then she looked at the door and whispered, “I saved a slice of kidney pie from the Mister’s supper. You can have that later if you think you can keep it down.”

  Addy smiled and thanked the woman with her eyes. The woman watched her drink and asked, “What’s your name?”

  Addy thought to lie but couldn’t. “Adelaide Shadd.”

  “Adelaide Shadd. So you are the girl from Rusholme.”

  Addy could not have been more shocked if the woman had slapped her across the face.

  “I says to my husband, I says that girl is Wallace Shadd’s daught
er from Rusholme and don’t tell me it ain’t.” She was pleased with herself and smiled for the first time. “When I seen you up close, I knew right off because of them big ears of yours. You know you look just like your Daddy. I come from Rusholme too, but I left when I got married and I do curse the day.”

  Addy didn’t know what it meant that this woman knew her father, but felt compelled to be truthful. “My Daddy turned me out.”

  “I know. All the coloured folks around these parts know everything about what happened. It was reported in The Border City Star, the deaths at the river and all, and wasn’t Mr. MacLeod asking some questions about you. I knew your Daddy when he was just a boy. Heard he was working over to Chatham.”

  “Yes, Ma’am.”

  “Doing well for hisself.”

  “Yes, Ma’am.”

  “He was sweet on me, your Daddy. Suppose you didn’t know that.”

  “No, Ma’am.”

  “I’m Leona Davies. You call me Lenny like everybody else.”

  “Yes, Lenny.”

  “Quite a thing. Three people dead in one day. That gonna be hard for you to live with, all them people dead on account of you.”

  “Yes,” Addy whispered. She choked back some more soup, thinking of Leam and Chester, and was relieved when she felt her baby kick and had not a moment to think of Zach Heron. In the short time she’d been awake and sipping broth, she’d nearly forgotten there was a child inside her and was only happy the baby was kicking and reminding her it lived. Her hand flew to her stomach but she did not make a circle, unsure if Lenny knew about her condition and what all she’d think about it.