A Reckoning

by Linda Spalding

  Any food here, Martin? What’d you bring?

  The plot had been Bry’s at first and he had needed to convince Martin over two separate meetings, but Martin was not thinking of that now. There’s bread and cheese and herring but you better be quiet, I mean it.

  I get off at the first stop, son. (Calling him son!) Remember where I told you.

  Uh huh. They’ll still be watching for runaways there. Mister Spradling will have put out the word. Be slave catchers at the ready for sure. I thought on that and I decided on a better place.

  No. I planned it all out. I studied it many a time. I talked to somebody down by the harbor I met. You been good to me, boy (calling him boy!), but New Albany’s my place to get off.

  Listen here, I took a chance on this plan of yours and I also heard about New Albany, that it’ll be crawling with catchers. It’s the first jumping-off place from Louisville. It was me who found out how wagons get loaded on – not by deckhands but by the owners. I studied up on the facts.

  Bry said: I been aiming for Ohio for one whole year. What could I lose at this point?

  Martin said: Your life. You get caught. Or fall in the river. Or we go to jail and they hang us. I sure can’t roll the wagon off there and how else would you keep from them seeing you?

  I run and jump and I’m onto the shore.

  My mama would get in trouble too, you know. You better just do as I say now. Martin liked the sound of that. On this lower deck the open sides were exposed to sun and wind and rain and the boilers were so hot that no one could be close to them so everyone stood or sat in the narrow space available, where they often got wet. There were no benches, no cabins, no bunks. There were fights over any bit of shade and the water was brought up in a pail from the river and the toilet was another pail that got dumped into that same river but most men angled themselves over the side of the boat, leaving the pail for females. There was one grill to be shared. There was the ever-present danger of being swept overboard. There were hundreds of stories. When the boilers explode, people die by scaldings or drownings or burnings, someone was bound to point out. There were examples. There was nothing on offer on this deck but chance.

  Even so, Bry lay back down in the bed of the wagon and complained. Maybe my last chance. I been hungry all my life, Martin, but nothing like what I was on my walk up the side of Kentucky thinkin I was in Ohio never finding myself a rabbit or a cabbage or a cake. No, sir, I don go down this river one more foot after New Albany.

  Now you just listen to me! But then he could not decide how to have his way and went off to see his bear and when he neared her cage he had to stand outside it because the captain would not allow him a key. It was an iron cage and not very big, but Martin couldn’t let Cuff know he felt sorry for her. Big old baby, he said, longing to pull her into his lap. He was trying to do something Good. He even felt glad when he thought about it. Brought a bear and a runaway slave aboard a boat where neither belonged. Cuff was a good ninety pounds by now at a year and a half. He had a runaway in his care and two mules and four cows and a pony and a bear. He had done something nobody knew about and he had no need for praise, not really, but he wished he could tell.

  49

  That first night on the steamboat, Bry knew Martin would come to the wagon to sleep, but he had never yet slept near any white person except for Mother Mary and that was a long time back when Bett made medicine and Mary Jones delivered it to customers because Bett, being Negro, was not known to have talent or knowledge. And so, until he was ten, and Mister Rafe Fox claimed him, they had been an unusual family and now when Martin settled down beside him in the wagon, Bry would have to find the courage to explain his plan. When we get near to Albany, he whispered later that night, when we hear any passengers pushing to get off, I’m goin ta mingle. He knew it would work. He would tuck in his shirt, spit-polish his boots, smooth down his hair. There would be an amount of confusion on the lower deck as goods were unloaded and he would just mingle, as he said to Martin, making himself look busy like one of the deckhands. Already, with so many people on one side, the boat was listing and the wagon rolled against its brake and Bry moved the canvas aside to peek out. Slave-catching was a for-profit business. If a black person had papers, the papers were said to be false. Bry had learned this before he cheated Washington Spradling out of four hundred dollars’ worth of labor. All I am worth at this time, he thought bitterly. In Albany, a runaway needed a contact or he would get picked up, but Bry had learned a few tricks in Louisville. That’s what Mister Spradling had in mind when he purchased a slave and trained him up in the barber trade. It was better than nothing, better than cotton, which never grew in the North except on backs and arms and legs. When Bry felt the big steamboat swinging around like the hands on a compass and then bang into a dock, he put his whole head out of the canvas and saw Martin running fast at him, saying: There’s a man over there on the dock with a gun.

  That don’t mean…

  Get your head back in. He can see you! Martin almost believed in the man he had made up in his mind. He could almost see him. You want us to get caught? He was sorry he’d done such a stupid thing as to bring a runaway slave on a fancy steamboat. Anyone laid eyes on Bry, they’d both get caught.

  Meanwhile, Bry held on to the side of the wagon. His eyes teared up. I got to get off, Martin. I can’t stay here. I got to get off.

  Get your hands in. I can see em, Martin hissed.

  I need to stand up. My leg is cramped.

  You can’t.

  I got to. Bry thought of the dock on the north side of the river and of his mother and maybe his child somewhere out there to be found.

  50

  Later, at an hour when others were looking for their bedrolls or lying in uncovered humps on the hot lower deck, Martin went to feed the pony, the mules, and the bear. The pony did not like living with the mules but the mules cared about nothing. Cows were kept in a large penned area near the bow. It was a mournful place, the animals herded together, unshaded, hot and arguing for water, but at the stern the mood was more obliging and Cuff was relaxed. Martin made the rounds and then emptied his bladder at the edge of the deck. When it was dark, he crawled into the wagon and rustled in the bag of food he had been given by Electa. Jerky, water crackers, dried herring, and sausages. He gave Bry half of his portion and Bry did not deny himself. I remember you brought a man to the field that time. Do you know what he did? Bry asked.

  I know everybody started running off and we lost the farm.

  Your uncle’s farm.

  We lived off it if you care to know and some was ours.

  Lived off us, I guess. Where do I get off? Bry felt tired from the effort he had made to resolve his difference with Martin, although Martin knew nothing of the struggle he’d felt.

  St. Louis is where I’m thinking.

  Where’s it at?

  After we get off the biggest river in the world, you’ll feel us pushing against the current, and it could happen right now or almost any minute and it’ll take some days of pushing.

  I can’t even see where I am. Could be Georgia you bringin me into.

  Well, it’s not. It can’t be Georgia if you look at the sun.

  Can’t look out, can I? Take it on faith is all I can do.

  The first night it had gone like this, but on the second night they began to talk in another way. The difference was that Martin was asking the questions. He said, How’d you get all the way to Louisville?

  Bry was rubbing at his beard. He loved the feel of it. You know your aunt Mary? She raised me in her house. My mama was her property.

  Behind them, the wheel made its grueling, rhythmic noise. Then Bry said: Missus Mary had a sister named Jemima who was my friend and we…he was staring at the dark because he had the nerve to tell something like this.

  But Martin said: Shut up your mouth about my family.

  51

  Dear Papa Ladies wear gloves on this boat even to eat. I wish you could see our beds in a stack. But
Gina needs her papa. In the wall is a round hole where we can see high clifs along the side and there is no sky. Mama is lying down because she is sick but Br. Borden is a medic so Gina and I go in the salone but we do not have gloves. Gina still has that cough that used to worry you. Do you still worry? I herd a lady saying the farmers are going to win the war of the west, but I don’t think there is a war, is there? I hope you will fight for us if there is a war. Today we will come to St. Louis which has more French people then Louisville and maybe you will be waiting with Patton if not I will mail this because I want you to find us. I hope and cry. With love Your Lecta

  52

  Martin’s private prayer was disturbed by sharp, blasting whistles. There were shouts from the shore. He got up off his knees and opened his eyes and made his way to the rail to see the outskirts of St. Louis. He had been praying because this was The Test. He had to get Bry off the boat on the south side of the river because that’s where they were landing and that was too bad. Bry would be upset at the news but there was no way around the fact. Also the street that ran down to the river was filling up with half of St. Louis on the run to meet the boat and he did not think he would ever get Bry off in one piece.

  In six days Martin and Bry had grown accustomed to one another. Man and boy stretched toe to head, listening to snores and secrets in the dark. Now the deckhands were tossing lines to men on the dock and Martin’s fear pinched at him. He didn’t want to move. What if his mother came down to check on the wagon, or sent Brother Borden down? When the plank was put out, men swarmed aboard, checking the female passengers as if they wore price signs. Names were called out. Maybe they had ordered brides to come out west. More and more people came pushing onto the deck. Passengers trying to get off were shoved back. More names were called. Gloria Bishop? Miss Bishop? Stewart Graves? There was a babble of French. Miss Bishop was trying to make herself heard. Tonight there would be a party on the boat with liquor, and such delicacies as came from Louisville and points east or south. New Orleans shrimp kept on ice! The locals were hoping to enjoy themselves after a winter of venison and turkey and there was no time ahead when the decks would be empty for so much as a minute. Anyway, Martin was watching for the slave hunters who would be watching for Bry. There might be notices pasted up about him. If I get the old man off, I’ll be myself again, he thought. Frightened almost to death, he stood at deck edge and watched his mother begin her promenade down the upper gangplank. She turned to look down and called to him. You bring the wagon and I’ll meet you over there. She pointed to a building with a broad green awning, its edges ruffling in a hot summer breeze. She went on down the gangplank on Sister Borden’s arm, limping a little but not so much as before. More shouts: Men to unload! Over here! There was no end to the bundles thrown down by the deckhands. Martin went back to the wagon and lifted the cover enough to touch Bry’s cold hand. Help me with the stock so it will look natural. He meant: Because you could be a servant. He reached into his shirt and pulled out a sheet of paper, which had been rubbed to give it a serious look, not too clean to be believed.

  Bry angled himself down off the wagon, groaning. He had not stood in six days. He reached for the paper and examined it.

  I Benjamin Dickinson owner of this man Bry herebie make him free.

  Better sign it.

  How can I. That’s not my name.

  Bry said: No matter. Put a date.

  Up on the levee, men carried revolvers in plain sight. This was a city of racket and smells, its streets crowded with prairie schooners, wobbly buggies, and big, overloaded carts rolling over trash and rotting garbage. Some of the wagons were pulled by oxen. Whole teams of oxen. This was the start of the long trip west. Martin and Bry stood on the deck and looked at each other. They went silently to the stall that held the two mules and the pony, the landing now full of more shouting and cursing and cracking whips.

  That’s Illinois over there. Martin pointed across the river.

  How’m I to get to it? Bry stared ahead. How’m I to do it? You got me in a bad fix, Martin.

  On the upper deck, preparations were already being made for the evening festivities while animals were led off the lower plank along with wagons and carts piled high with trunks.

  Take hold of Beulah.

  I never did take to them, Martin.

  Just do it. She won’t bite.

  Bry had not eaten since the previous night, when Martin had slipped him a few pieces of salted herring. It was the last of their food. He blinked now in the bright light and swayed on his feet and took hold of a thin piece of leather that was attached to an animal he feared like snakes. Bad fellow, he muttered. Come along as I say to. A fight had broken out by the boilers, two men arguing over some piece of equipment.

  This landing here’s no good, Martin! You shoulda let me off before this.

  Just look normal. Just move your legs. You’re helping me with the wagon, that’s all. It’s going to be fine. Martin was trying to think. He would have to come back for the cows. Then the pony. Or the other way around. Then Cuff. Pulling Cuff through this crowd after six days in a cage she’d be quick to take offense. Bear and slave. Both jittery.

  53

  The Missouri River is like no other, spilling sand and dirt from its steep sides, shape-changing by the hour, so restless and wild that it carves out wider and wider bends, making trees fall off its banks into the maddened current. The great steam paddle-boats required little water but a tree snag could sink one in minutes. Martin had watched the river snapping and gnawing at the looming city of St. Louis. Then, docked, he harnessed the mules and together with Bry they got the big wagon off the swaying boat to the sound of a horse rearing madly on the street while Bry, terrified and jubilant, moved one foot and then the other as if he’d been wound up and set loose. Women passed by swathed in veils while Lavina stood across the way under the awning waiting for Patton, looking anxiously up and down the street. The Bordens had gone on ahead with their wagon. It seemed that all of them would make camp on the same ground. Who was that? Lavina asked as Martin brought the wagon up by her.

  Someone just helping out. Bry had ducked into an alley.

  We’re taking a spot over behind that warehouse. See? Do you see where?

  I see, Mother.

  Take the wagon, then come back for Judy and Cuff. I’ll have Lecta take the cows to graze.

  But he wanted to shout. I saved a man! He wanted to scream: I did it! He climbed on the wagon, slapping the mules with the reins, beside himself and exalted, having no idea where Bry would make off to, but it’s done, it’s done. I made a man free. I shared my nights, my food, my whole chance with him. It was almost too much to hold in, this thing he had done and he wanted to hurl it up in the air and give it away and make it bigger than it was. Make it as high as the sky. My Deed, he wanted to call it, even as Bry was feeling his way around the edges of a town where abolitionists and slaveholders and catchers waged daily battles over their contrasting beliefs and where he might be picked up any minute because he was still in Missouri.

  54

  At the St. Louis campground, Brother Borden told a story. Some time back, he said, some fellows who shall go unnamed bought a tired old schooner. Oh, it was once a fine one, having navigated the cold waters of Lake Erie back and forth in its time. The vessel was towed down the river to within half a mile of the Niagara cataract and loaded with two bears and numerous smaller animals. Then it was set adrift. But at this point Martin walked away from the campsite. He would not listen to any story about bears.

  55

  The next evening the children saw Brother Borden striding straight toward their wagon. He took off his hat, put it back on his curly hair, and stood before them, panting. He took off his glasses and wiped them on his sleeve, then put them back on his face, adjusting the wire that fit over his ears. He looked quickly at Lavina, then dropped his gaze to his feet. He put a hand over his heart and stood perplexed.

  Lavina set her bowl down and came to his sid
e. She put her hand on his and said: What is it?

  I am here, Brother Borden said…I am here…he pitched his voice to be heard by the children. Because a fella down the road a mile or so says your papa is approaching. Behind the lenses, his eyes were closed, as if he did not want to see the look on Lavina’s face.

  Lavina could not ascertain how she felt. There was a stirring in her that she could not assess and she could not see for the tears that filled her eyes. She looked around blindly. She said: Son! Your father! Quick!

  Martin was sitting with his back against a wagon wheel (a position never allowed at home, where children stood when an adult approached), but now he got up to untie the thick rope that held his bear. That afternoon a little girl had come to pet Cuff and the bear had swiped at her and knocked her down, but Lavina had interceded with a piece of liquorice, so perhaps the child’s parents were none the wiser. Lavina had managed to bargain for Cuff to travel on the New Statesman to St. Jo, although this captain, too, insisted on a locked iron cage. About the boat trip, the Bordens were undecided.

  Martin said he thought he would take the bear for a walk. His heart was hammering and his stomach felt queasy.

  Electa stood up, knocking her cup of milk over wastefully, and then sat back down. Shall I come? she called to her brother, but Martin was already striding away and did not answer. He had hold of the leather leash with its twelve feet of length, a leash easily snapped by the bear, who was led off willingly. Cuff loved her hikes with Martin, although Electa once said she could imagine Cuff running home at bedtime for a cup of hot chocolate. Now she was not sure where she wanted to be. Her father was coming at last. She felt nervous and divided.

  But Martin knew his responsibility to a creature he had suckled on cow’s milk and honey and taught to eat from a dish. I will teach you tricks for our future, he had earlier told the bear. Civilized tricks. Not that we will find civilized anything where we are going. He had forgiven Cuff the swipe at the little girl because bears, like little girls, are ruled by nature. You shall also teach me, he added, since he had seen that if a student can be approached on his own ground, it benefits teacher and student both. He, himself, had once taught old Reuben the alphabet by walking behind the plow with him and singing the letters out. Without an alphabet, how was Cuff to be taught not to swipe at little girls, not to knock people down, not to growl or bite? Can we think without words? Words are made of letters written in our brains. Thoughts must be like that too. All this was worrying Martin as his bear, with her natural lope, went off in the direction of the trees that were clustered at the far edge of the campsite, pulling at her long leash. His father’s return. Had he expected it? Along with the hammering heart and the queasy stomach, Martin felt a dull foreboding that ran up his back and around his shoulders into his chest. He wanted to stop. He thought he should maybe turn back. It’ll anger him if I’m not there when he rides up, Martin thought. But I should wait for his mood to settle. And he was glad to be leaving the campsite even as he was trying to be glad that his father was back. Just for a while, he said to Cuff, we’ll stay scarce. And now his mother would get better and Brother Borden would stop pestering her and the girls would do what they were told. Normal is what we’ll be again, he told Cuff, whose tracks looked pigeon-toed and Martin laughed and then he remembered his father’s rage at the bear on the day they left home and he decided he would stay in the woods until his father had time to greet everyone else and reclaim his wagon.