He had to be.
I breathed deep and focused on the flash of autumn colors caught in the headlights as we sped by. The land rolled, lazy-like, and I remembered the occasional mounds of grass, set back in open fields. They were ancient, those mounds. More than a thousand years old. America before America was. Earth and ashes. Broken pottery. The ghosts of damaged souls. I felt them when I passed that way before. They called out in the rustle of knee-high grass, the clap of leaves.
I flexed my fingers and felt the throb of blood coursing through my arm. Ground my mind back to the plan. Visualizing. That’s how I got my men up the Missouri. Across the Bitterroots. Through the gorge of the Columbia. All the way to the Pacific. I saw it all. Mapped it in my mind before we set out. I envisioned a different outcome, a Northwest Passage we could navigate to the sea. My imagination wasn’t powerful enough to overcome the whimsies of geology.
Maybe seeing the end would work this time.
“Where did Mister Crit learn to sing that way?” Emmaline’s breathless words tumbled into the front seat.
Pudge chewed the nub of a toothpick in the corner of his lip. “Don’t know.”
“My daddy sings pretty like you, Mister Crit. And he can play the guitar, too, like you, Mister Pudge.”
“Can he, now? I’ve always just been a picker. Nothing serious.”
I shook myself out of the fog. “It seems like something of a miracle, Crit not speaking, and yet he can sing.”
“We were pretty taken aback too. Happened kind of sudden.”
“Recently?”
“Yep. Couple months ago. August. He started singing along when I played. Faint, at first. Almost like a ghost, you know? But his voice grew into something powerful.”
I thought back through my medical training. On the expedition, I treated stab wounds and blisters, frozen toes and sprains. My specialty was venereal disease, as the men couldn’t stop themselves from doing the business with the natives. But, I never saw a patient go from mute to singing. Unusual, Crit’s ability.
Pudge caught my eye in the rearview mirror. “Say, not to change the subject, but you sure you’re going to be all right out here overnight?”
I rubbed my eyes and forced a smile. “Yeah. We’ll be fine.”
“You look wore out.”
“Traveling with Em is a big responsibility. The weight of it gets to me sometimes.”
Emmaline’s face colored when she looked at me. Crestfallen woe was etched around her eyes. Her disappointment yanked at my heart.
“Getting Em to her daddy is very important to me. I want to follow through, you know? Do it right.”
“Kind of the same way it works with me and Crit.”
Emmaline relaxed and snuggled up to my side, her blonde curls falling forward.
“Thank you, Merry.” Her voice was drowned with sleep, and her head lolled against me. In less than a minute, she was unconscious, her breath warming a spot on my hand. How did kids go from frenetic to still in the span of two seconds?
I wrapped my arm around her, thinking about Nashville. What would Lee Cagney be like? Childish idealism informed her whole idea of him, a man who, in the end, had abandoned her. She was so proud of her ruined stack of letters from him. Sporadic postmarks and shifting addresses. The last one from Nashville nearly two months ago. She believed her father wrote her every day because her Aunt Bertie fed her that story, but I had my doubts. Did he really deserve a girl like Emmaline? My heart tore a little at the thought of finishing my assignment. Of giving her up, especially to a man who might not want her.
What would happen if we never found him at all? It was a scenario I’d never considered, the mechanics of technical success without the actual hand-off. If I got Em to Nashville but we couldn’t find this Lee Cagney, was I still doomed to go back to the dumpy hell-hole of a bar? And, if I disappeared, what would happen to Emmaline?
I leaned my head back on the seat and watched shadows scroll by. Somehow, Wilkinson had managed to evade capture in Nowhere for more than a century. Even built his own empire, a thing he craved in life. If he could wrangle his Nowhere experience to suit his evil purposes, why couldn’t I use my own to give Em a real father? To give her me?
I ran my hands over my face to dispel the thought. We had to find Cagney. It was my mission. Even when it was impossible, I always finished a job.
Pudge turned the T-bird onto a dirt road and rattled to a stop in a dusty parking lot. Along the edge, the ground dropped off and disappeared into nighttime behind a lone wooden sign. Bear Creek Mound. I had heard of this place, one of the oldest Native American mounds along the Trace. Restless spirits shimmered just under the surface of the air. Pudge’s lights illuminated the ghost of a jagged rock face. “There’s a cave down there.”
“Good. We’ll make that our camp.”
“You two ought to be safe this time of day. Nobody much stops in this forgotten corner of northeastern Mississippi.”
“As long as the right person stops, that’s all that matters to me.”
“Leslie said she’d be along tomorrow, late morning.”
“No problem.”
“If it gets chilly, the trees ought to hide your campfire, but I’d be careful all the same.”
“I’m good at hiding. We won’t need a fire.” I jostled Emmaline to rouse her and opened the back door. She crawled into my lap and lay her head on my chest. Still asleep.
I hoisted Em with one arm and walked around to grab our things from the trunk, piling them on the ground. Two packs plus a sack of diner delicacies for our breakfast.
Back at the driver’s window, I grasped Pudge’s hand and shook it firm. “Don’t get out. It’s too much trouble for you and Crit.”
“Wish you’d reconsider.”
“Can’t do it. We’ll be harder to find if we’re away from town. Your diner’ll be the first place they come looking.”
His eyes failed to meet mine. “All right.”
“I’m mighty thankful for everything you’ve done for us. Hector was right about you.”
“The Spaniard. Good man. Likes peanut butter and banana sandwiches.”
Emmaline’s groggy voice rang out against my jacket. “Will we see you again, Mister Pudge?”
“I hope so. You always remember our song, young lady. If you’re lonesome, think of us, and we’ll be with you.” He looked at me. “Good luck, Merry.”
“Never had much, but I’ll take it.” I watched the lights of a truck lumber up the highway. Into Alabama. I shifted Em and memorized Pudge’s soulful eyes, the flip of his black hair. “Thank you. For everything.”
Pudge gave us a nod and backed out of the parking lot. I watched until the tail lights were lost behind a knot of trees. I gave Em a gentle shake and clicked on a flashlight. Muted shadows dodged along the ground, as light skittered through my fingers. Em picked up the strap of her pack and dragged it down some hewn stairs into the ravine while I slid my way along the wet rocks toward the open mouth of a cave. Somewhere, water dripped. I skirted an entrance littered with boulders to stand under the cave’s solid roof. A cool draft blew from under the earth, but the ground was level.
From there, I couldn’t see the parking area or hear the traffic on the road. Emmaline dropped her pack on the ground beside me.
“Where will we put my tent, Merry?”
“If we stay right here, we ought to be covered enough not to have to deal with the tent. All right? Just our sleeping bags and what we can see of the night sky? Maybe the rhythm of falling water?”
Emmaline nodded, her mechanical arms tugging at her sleeping bag. “I’ll eat when I wake up. Okay?”
I glanced up at the shard of moon in the darkening sky. Sleep called to me louder than my stomach, too.
In minutes, I had her tucked into her bag. I zipped it closed and crawled into my own. Up above, the
dusty arm of the Milky Way draped across the black sky. My breath misted next to the stars when I whispered my lone desire.
Just get through tomorrow, Merry. Tomorrow, this will all be over, and then you’ll be a new man.
FORTY-FIVE
I couldn’t remember how I got to the foot of the mound. I thought I followed a tanned girl with high cheekbones, not much older than me, with shiny black hair like my mother’s. Her dress was the color of her skin, but I kept my eyes on her sparkly hair all the way.
When I got to the bottom of a grassy pile of dirt, she was gone. The sides of the mound were higher than my head, so I couldn’t see the whole thing. I scratched my eyelids and blinked, tired, but not sleepy any more.
Wildflowers grew up the side of the mound, and the night wind blew cold on my skin. I rubbed my hands together to warm my fingers. Merry taught me that trick. I blinked again and looked for the girl.
The sky was really black, and it showed lots of stars. I kept looking up at it as I walked all the way around the mound. It was like a humongous mud pie, blurred around the sides and fallen in the middle. It was more square than round. Did somebody build up the dirt that way? I couldn’t understand why anybody would make a big dirt pile in the middle of nowhere.
I found hollowed-out steps and climbed to the top. The stars lit up a dark bowl at the top of the mound, fuzzy weeds growing along the slope. I used my feet to feel my way, just like Merry taught me to do when I couldn’t see in the woods. If he saw me, he would be really proud.
Finally, I got to the middle, and I could lie down and stare at the night sky. The crickets were really loud, but the raised sides blocked out a lot of the spooky night noises. The trees that knocked together and the low blurps of the frogs. They scared me.
I turned my head sideways and tried to see the sky from the corners of my eyes. Sister Mary Caroline told us our eyes saw light better from the sides at night, but it was hard to see if she was right in New Orleans, because we had lights everywhere. I never knew there were so many stars until I found Merry. He even told me some of their names. From the mound, the stars were even brighter.
When I shifted my head to the other side, the girl was there. She lay on the ground beside me.
Hello. Her voice was whispery in the back of her throat.
When I jumped to my feet, weeds tangled up in my legs and tripped me. I bit my lips together to keep from crying out for Merry. Briers pulled at the skin on my knees when I fell.
Don’t be afraid.
I spat dirt out of my mouth and looked back. Her eyes were like coal, but I could see a pretty row of teeth inside her smile.
“Where did you come from? You weren’t here a second ago.”
The girl sat up and hugged her knees to her chest. I’m always where people want to find me. I’m glad you found me.
“What’s your name?” I scooted closer. She was relaxing to me. Like Merry, but different.
Talisa. It means ‘beautiful water.’
“That’s pretty. My name is Emmaline, but I don’t know what it means.”
Maybe names are a bigger deal to my people. She looked at me funny, as if she was trying to figure me out.
“Where are they? Your people?” I asked.
Around. Everywhere.
The slice of moon went behind a cloud and came back, brighter. I looked around the top of the mound and didn’t see any of her people, but I decided not to point that out. With a sigh, I stretched out on the ground. “Do you like to look at the sky at night?”
Oh, yes. She eased her hands under her head and smiled. I love the hunter that twinkles for his supper and the seated lady with the flowing dress and the cup that could hold an ocean. When they preen across the edge of the atmosphere, they’re like old friends, coming to greet me after being away for the day.
I rolled on my side and perched my head in my hand. “How old are you? I’m nine.”
Her eyes squinted. We think we’ll live forever when we’re young. Maybe we will.
Talisa kept her eyes on the sky. Starlight twinkled in the whites of her eyes. I laid back on the grass and reached for Talisa’s hand. It was slight, almost like air. I thought about what she said, about living forever.
“I hope I don’t have to live forever to find my daddy. I’ve been without him for six months, and that feels like forever to me.”
Talisa pumped my fingers. You’ll find him, Emmaline. Your souls are intermingled, magnetic, like the sliver of moon you see orbiting our circle of earth.
“Do you feel that way about your daddy?”
I couldn’t tell if Talisa made a sigh or a sob, but her voice was steady when she talked again. My relationship with my father was very different from yours. Although, like you, I was young when I stopped living with him.
“Why did you stop living with your daddy? Did your parents divorce, like mine?”
Nothing like that. I went to live with my husband, as was our custom.
I bolted up and looked down at her unlined face. “You mean, you’re married? But you’re not much older than me.”
People haven’t always waited until they were older to marry. Besides, my father was preoccupied. He never paid much attention to me. Not cruel, exactly, but vacant of love.
“That sounds sort of like my mother was. She’s dead. Is your daddy dead?”
Dead? Yes. Her stare scorched me. When my face burned, she shifted her eyes back to the sky. The anger swirling there made me want to run away again. I thought his love would surface in the end, but it didn’t. And now, I’m here.
Talisa pressed my sweaty hand for a few seconds before she stood. She had dried grass in her black hair, like it grew there. I belong here. Beside this beautiful water. Staking a claim to this mound of my people, this mystical place where we split the seams between worlds and blurred the lines between illusion and reality.
I rubbed my eyes. Was she saying she wasn’t real?
“What are you talking about, Talisa?”
I experienced it all, Emmaline. It’s the only way to live. Knowing you could die any minute makes you wring the life out of every day you get. When you consider the night sky, listen for me singing among the stars.
Talisa floated above me, her face turned to the twinkly sky. Her eyes rolled back, and when she screamed, I tried to reach out to her. To protect her. To keep her with me.
“Emmaline! Em! It’s okay.” Merry was shaking me, but the echoes of Talisa’s scream still pounded in my ears. Only, it was my voice. My scream. Merry’s face was scrunched up with worry, and he took me in his arms. He ran his fingers through my hair and kept asking me if I had a bad dream.
I just clung to him. It was all I had the energy to do.
FORTY-SIX
Tuesday, October 11, 1977. Bear Creek, Mississippi.
“And then she just walked away. I think I heard a scream, Merry, but really, it was like a hole opened up in a painting, and she walked right through it. Do you think it was a dream?”
Emmaline fluttered around me. Her feet barely hit the ground.
“What do you think, Em?”
“I think she was real. Her name was Talisa. She was my friend.”
“Friends are good things to have, however we meet them.”
At the base of the mound, she bent to pick a faded wildflower, a ball of dusty pink petals. She waved it around in one hand while grasping my palm with the other. Our arms swung, linked together in the space between us. Connected, yet free.
I’d barely had a drink since we floated up the Mississippi, but my head was mushy with a sleepless hangover. Every car that passed on the road overnight was a possible danger. I crept to the rim of the cave to keep watch, every light and shadow threatening to undo us.
I always tried to be sensible, because I was the leader on our team. A burgeoning father figure. But with one snap o
f a branch in the dark, I reverted to what I was. Afraid. Bewildered. A failure.
I failed to find the Northwest Passage. Bungled my appointment as territorial governor. I couldn’t even make my expedition journals ready for publication. Clark probably finished that task for me. My light reached a pinnacle and fizzled. I never could reignite it.
Emmaline’s hyperactivity ran counter to my desolate exhaustion. I relished watching her renewed energy, but I shook my head, hoping to banish my familiar monsters that had lingered so long they were almost friends.
The ribbon of road snaked off to the northeast. To Tennessee.
My heart twisted. It was a haunted place. A desperate place. The last place I walked in life. Breathed my last breath. A neighborhood I never thought I’d be forced to walk again. What would happen if I stepped across my own grave? The exact spot where I expired? The shallow trench where they threw me? Hasty, like they wanted to blot out the evidence of what they did. What they made me do.
Emmaline cartwheeled across the field. Her Wonder Twin costume was hiked above her grass-stained knees, and it already sported a small rip in the seat. “Watch me, Merry! Can you do a cartwheel? I bet you can’t!”
“I’m hopeless with that stuff, Em. Always have been.”
“Well, I’m real good at it. See?” She took another tumble and landed on her bottom in a patch of tall grass.
“Look, you need to change out of that outfit. You’re going to ruin it.”
She stopped tumbling and stood still, her face pensive. While I watched, a layer of her childhood peeled away. Danced in the air and evaporated. Her carriage bent a little with the added burden. “You’re right, Merry. I need to wear something more mature for Daddy. Show him how grown-up I’ve become. He will be so proud of me.”
To Live Forever: An Afterlife Journey of Meriwether Lewis Page 20
