The All-True Travels and Adventures of Lidie Newton

by Jane Smiley

  Well, I admit that these sights and sounds, and Mr. Graves’s words, too, were startling. I saw that his plan was just what Charles’s had been—to bundle me out of harm’s way. My plan, of eliciting from him the names of Thomas’s killers, had been entirely unsuccessful, and I didn’t see another way, just yet, but even as he was speaking, I was trying to think of one. I looked toward my bag, which contained my pistol and my rounds of ammunition, for inspiration. Mr. Graves’s mules ambled through the crowds, slowly making our way for us to the boats I could see down on the river. Frankly, I had not imagined so many people. Even if that boy were here, I would certainly miss him in this crowd, unless some emanation from him, such as Louisa maintained she was sensitive to, was carried to me across the spiritual realm. It was enough to discourage someone not quite as single-minded as myself. But there they were, as close as the inside of my own head—Thomas turning to speak and falling out of my sight behind Mr. James’s little wagon, Jeremiah rearing up in the traces, that boy’s face as he shot him dead. You couldn’t rest with such a picture in your head, even in the teeth of such scenes as I now beheld.

  The girl spoke up. "We an’t had nothin’ good to eat since two days ago, and I’m hungry." The two men looked at each other. I said, "I’m hungry, too."

  The second Mr. Graves barked, "We got stuff to unload!" and the girl looked abashed, but then the first Mr. Graves, a man who I could see was always kindly in spite of himself, said, "We’re going to Morton’s ware - house. It seems to me there’s a place down around there that an’t too bad, if we set by the door and keep our eyes peeled."

  "I can pay for myself," I said, as if the men’s reluctance grew out of stinginess, but I knew it grew out of something else, perhaps only caution at the general rowdiness.

  There was a place—the Alabama Hotel, a building still under construction but already a going business—and after unloading, we went there. Vida and I sat in the wagon for a moment, while the two men checked on the activities inside. All was quiet enough, and so we got out, tied up the mules, and went in.

  The ground floor of the Alabama Hotel was cavernous, lit by six glass windows that ran along the back wall, facing the river over the bluff. It contained a vast number of tables, no two alike—some round, some rectangular, some finely finished, and others just rough boards. And pulled up to the tables were chairs, stools, benches, and kegs of all sorts, too. Clearly the Alabama Hotel was a business built on the failures of other businesses. While we stood in the corner beside the door, a half-dozen Negro men came running in from the back and started setting the tables, with a clatter of crockery and utensils. They then brought in big bowls of food and placed them in the center of the tables, also at a run. I saw that this was to be a meal on the steamboat model, and indeed, all around the walls of the room, men were gathering, waiting near the tables for the signal to be seated. The Negroes ran faster and worked harder as the top of the hour approached. The men around the walls were armed and rough-looking characters, and not likely to entertain any delay to the gratification of their appetites. There were shouts of "Hurry, boys! I’m hungry as a dragon!" and "Step it up, boy! Set down the food, then get out of the way!" There was even a shot, which made everyone jump, but then the rumor went around that the shooter had just let off his pistol exuberantly, out the window toward the river. The waiters didn’t even react that I could see. I suppose they were happy enough that there was only one shot. I noticed that a very rough-looking character, bearded from his eyebrows to his chest and with hands like loaves of bread, was going around taking money. He came to us, and the first Mr. Graves gave him a dollar and some change. "That’s one plate full per person," admonished the man. "This is an honor system here, but I’m watching you, anyway." Then he went on to the man beside me, who paid him a dollar, and he said, "That’s all you can eat, Morgan, same as always, but you got to sit at that table." He pointed. Morgan nodded and moved closer to the designated table. This man, the one who was taking the money, had his pistols holstered at his waist, clearly visible to all the rowdies. When he had gotten around the room, and the Negroes had gotten out of the way, he came to a gong and rang it, and the men poured off the walls and into the chairs. After that, it was the same wolfing of food that I’d seen on the steamboat, with this difference, that there was passing of bowls back and forth between some of the tables, until all the food was gone and all the bowls were as clean as if they’d been washed. I remember sitting with the Misses Tonkin on the steamboat and watching Thomas across the dining room, reaching for a piece of something and having it snatched from between his fingers. The thought made my throat tighten. Men licked their knives, their spoons, even their plates. We had some pork, some cucumbers, some corncakes, some wheat bread, and some corn pudding. After a bit, there was another sounding of the gong, and when I turned to glance at the first Mr. Graves, he said, "They’re serving up a drink of whiskey to each man, out on the porch. That gets ’em outta here pretty brisk. We can finish up at our leisure."

  "You can," said his cousin. "I’m gettin’ what I paid for."

  "I paid for it," said Mr. Graves. And I saw the cousin smile for the first time. "You set," the second Mr. Graves ordered Vida, though she hadn’t moved, and then he pushed off.

  "My cousin has high ambitions for Vida," said Mr. Graves. "She’s a precocious young lady with considerable accomplishments already. Vida, sing your song!"

  Vida was happy to oblige, and as all around us men were pushing back their chairs and rushing to the door, Vida sang four verses of "The Last Rose of Summer" in a high but tuneful voice. Mr. Graves clapped for her, and she nodded and simpered at him. Then he said, "My cousin keeps her by him, so that he can guard her precious talents. That side of the family was always musical. I don’t share their talents myself."

  "And I play the piccolo and dance," said Vida, proudly. "Pa says that I am going to go on the stage in a year or so."

  "There’s a great call for entertainment in the west," said Mr. Graves. "My cousin himself once did a lecture circuit, but since discovering Vida’s promise, he’s been devoting himself to nurturing it."

  I couldn’t help gaping just a little bit.

  Once the patrons had cleared out, the Negroes returned and began by sweeping up the broken crockery. After that, we went out.

  We were joined by the second Mr. Graves. Vida said, "I sang my song for the lady. She liked it."

  "Yes, I did—"

  "Did she pay you?"

  "Here," said my Mr. Graves. "Here’s a dime." He handed his cousin a coin, and the second Mr. Graves pocketed it.

  Now we made our way down to the river and began looking for the Missouri Rose. I had hoped that the cousin and the girl would find other business and I would be able to either elicit information from Mr. Graves or else elude him, but the two stuck to us like cockleburs. The girl was sharp-sighted, shouting, "There she is!" not two seconds after I’d spotted the boat and attempted to turn the two men. Mr. Graves was carrying my bag, and he marched us right down there and handed it to a Missouri Rose deckhand. The deckhand walked away with it, and I saw that I was sunk.

  We went on board, up what I suppose you would call the gangplank, to the passenger deck, and there, to my dismay, we immediately encountered the captain, who was a small, rotund man with side-whiskers and a pince-nez. This man greeted Mr. Graves heartily, haw-hawing and throwing his arm around Mr. Graves’s shoulder.

  "When will you be getting under way?" said Mr. Graves.

  "No later than tomorrow, crack of dawn, haw haw," shouted Captain Smith.

  "What’s the passage for this young lady here, down to Saint Louis, you old crook?" shouted Mr. Graves in return.

  "Twelve dollars if she’s paying, twelve silver dollars if you’re paying, haw haw," shouted the captain.

  "I’m paying," said Mr. Graves, "if you’re really going off tomorrow, but if you an’t, I’ll find someone else who is. Got to get her out of this country, and that’s a fact."

  "She
a G— d— abolitionist, haw haw?" shouted the captain.

  "She’s a widow woman, and made so at a young age, and her husband was a fine man, and that’s all you need to know. Now, are you leaving when you say, or is it just a trick?"

  I hated that word "widow."

  "Tomorrow noon. Two o’clock at the latest."

  "I’ll keep looking. If I don’t find nothing better, I’ll be back."

  He marched me down to the shore, where I stopped dead. "In the first place," I exclaimed, "I have the money to pay my passage. In the second place, I consider your treatment of me very high-handed! I am accustomed to making my own decisions, and I haven’t made up my mind what I intend to do."

  "Ma’am, I told you before—"

  "I know what you told me, and I understand that you are motivated by kindness, but—" But I bit my tongue before speaking. I knew that my plan, such as it was, was so much in my mind that almost any word would reveal it, possibly without my knowing. I eyed Mr. Graves. Wasn’t the key thing, after all, to be rid of him? I bent my head, then sought his gaze and said, more submissively, "I know what you want to do is all for the best, Mr. Graves, and you’ve always been a friend to me, so whatever you think is best, that’s the course I will follow."

  "Good girl," said Mr. Graves.

  For the next hour, we visited each boat, one by one—there were four altogether—and at each we got a similar reply: perhaps tomorrow; but if you wanted to get right down to it, the next day or the day after that was more likely. Finally, we got back to the Missouri Rose. The captain showed me my little cabin and the ladies’ saloon, which was neatly fitted out in red brocade with gold trim—’Just had this done down in New Orleans; looks like it, don’t it, haw haw?"—and I watched while Mr. Graves counted out twelve silver dollars. Then I said, "But I need my bag. The boy took away my bag."

  "You’ll find it in your cabin."

  "Which is?"

  "Number seven."

  And now, now at last, I came to bidding farewell to Mr. Graves. We stood on the deck, and he worked himself up to his highest state of oratory. He took my hand. "Ma’am, Mrs. Newton, I say this openly, with no thought to my own preservation or the opinions of my fellowman: You and your late husband were fine folk, who came here with the purest of motives, no matter what our scribblers of the presses aver. I consider myself privileged to have known you, and especially privileged to have had such a lengthy and enlightening conversation with your husband, that time we passed between this town, Kansas City, though hardly a city then, and your destination, which, in consideration to the feelings of passersby, I shall not name right now. We talked, as I remember, about the broad breast of the ocean, whereon Mr. Newton had made his fortune, such as it was, and about certain medical and educational matters. These medical matters, I recall, had a favorable outcome, which I then attributed and now attribute to the pleasant circumstances of our journey. And I say this, too: that I was struck at the time by the contrast between a threesome of our local citizenry and your husband—the one set was low in their appetites and belligerent in their actions, while your husband was a man of enterprise and wit. The contrast struck me sharply, though I didn’t mention it at the time, and I said to myself, ’Well, these New Englanders aren’t all bad,’ and I date my period of enlightenment from that evening. Let me say this, that in my travels back and forth between that nameless town and this so-called city, my eyes have been opened to the worthy men of both sides of this tragic conflict. What will happen I of course cannot predict, but every day the contrast between what men might be and what they are grows greater. I wish you the best of luck far from these scenes of thievery and mayhem. I count the evening when I found you on the prairie and aided you in my humble way as one of the most significant of my life, and I will never forget it, or you, or your departed husband, and so good-bye." Here Mr. Graves kissed my hand and then let go of it, and I saw that there were tears in his eyes. In front of all the world, I stepped over and kissed him on the cheek, and I said, "You are certainly a dear man, Mr. Graves, and I will always think of you as a friend."

  I stood by the railing as he departed down the plank, and I watched him until he was well out of sight. Then I ran back to my cabin to get my bag, thinking I would make my own departure. My forty dollars was intact, thanks to Mr. Graves’s friendship; I was full of food; I could carry my bag off and find a hotel, then make inquiries here and there. When all was said and done, freedom was everything wasn’t it?

  I went into the red-and-gold saloon, then made my way down to cabin number seven. My heart, strange to say, was lighter than it had been in weeks, as if my plan were to meet Thomas, not to avenge him. I pushed back the curtain of my cabin and saw at once the back of another woman, a small woman with a cap on her white hair. She turned right around and said, "Ah! You’re Mrs. Newton! I am Miss Emily Carter, schoolteacher. The captain sent me over to chaperone you to Saint Louis. I’m sure we will have a lovely journey. I am well known on the Missouri Rose. I go back and forth from Kansas City to Saint Louis four times a year, and I always take the Rose. Isn’t the new ladies’ saloon inviting?"

  I was so shocked that I could barely keep a friendly countenance. It took significant effort to transform my gape into a smile, to hold out my hand, and to say to Miss Carter, "Oh, how lovely. I knew Mr. Graves would take care of me."

  "Oh, Mr. David B. Graves and I are old friends."

  "It’s hard to distinguish them, isn’t it?"

  "You mean the cousin? I don’t think of him as Mr. David B. Graves at all. He has a much more troubled reputation, don’t you know? No, whenever you hear the name Mr. David B. Graves, most folks know who you’re talking about. The one and not the other. Isn’t that funny?"

  "Yes, it is." I had regained a bit of my composure, but I was panting just a little. Miss Carter said, "Oh, my dear. You seem hot. I have just the thing. You recline a bit here, and I will fix you right up."

  I did what she said, at the same time furiously attempting to come up with a plan.

  "Now close your eyes, dear."

  When I did, she laid a folded handkerchief dipped in witch hazel across my forehead.

  "I will tell you right out, Mrs. Newton, that Mr. Graves told me a bit of your story, because he felt he could confide in me, though he did not tell the captain a word. Captain Smith is a very partisan man, I am sorry to say, and we all know the sort of things he’s done in what I call the goose cause. It’s a shame!" She clucked disapprovingly. "But I’m sure we will get down to Saint Louis with no problem. The lovely thing about the Missouri Rose is that it’s a safe and well-run boat, perfect for the Missouri River, just a first-rate craft. And Captain Smith has enough backing, my dear, so that he doesn’t run in an unsafe way—you know, trying always to get up more steam, or risking the sandbars. Oh! My land o’ mercy! You may not know it, but the Missouri River was not designed by the Lord for steamboat travel, but men will defy Him! The key thing is always to find a boat with more than enough boiler capacity, so that going along does not in any way test the boiler, because a boiler is just the sort of thing to fail the test!" She laughed, then felt my cheeks. "There we go, dear. You’re much cooler now, and your cheeks aren’t nearly so red." She removed the handkerchief. "Well, I am sorry to laugh, because the tragedy when a boiler fails is beyond thinking about! But my own brother is an engineer, and he said to me, ’Emily, dear, I have gone over the Missouri Rose from stem to stern, and looked over the boiler, too, and I declare she’s as safe as a boat can be, which isn’t all that safe, but the alternative is Missouri roads!’ "

  I sat up and declared that I felt better. Then I said, "Do we stay all night on the boat, then? I’m new at these things."

  "Well, I do, Mrs. Newton. I didn’t use to, when I was teaching in Lexington, because Lexington is a fine old town, as civilized as Lexington, Kentucky, where I was brought up. But these western towns, especially since those abolitionists got in here! In these circumstances, staying on the boat is a lady’s best
course of action. The captain has agreed to give us our supper—he really is a good man underneath, you know—and I think we can make ourselves quite comfortable here! The saloon is lovely, and our cabin is very roomy for a steamboat cabin."

  I forced myself to cool my impatience by making up alternative plans in my head: I could sneak off the boat at Westport or Lexington and make my way back if I had to. Wasn’t revenge a dish best eaten cold, even in K.T, where most tempers were hot? But I couldn’t raise much of an interest in Miss Carter, and so I didn’t respond in a very lively fashion to her conversation, and after a bit she fell silent and took out her work, which was some tatting. I watched her out of the corner of my eye—her thread was impossibly fine, and the lace she made was intricate and filmy. Watching her put me into a sort of dream, which passed the time until supper.

  We went on in this fashion for the rest of the day and into the evening. Our supper of steak and pickles and cherries and corn bread was brought to us in the ladies’ saloon by a Negro boy, and it was accompanied by the usual glass of river water—cloudy on top, thick at the bottom. Miss Carter drank hers right up, saying, "I’m told that in the baths of Europe, only the wealthiest can afford such a glass. We in America are more democratic!" I couldn’t be so enthusiastic—I sipped the top inch or so and then set mine aside.

  It would have been the end of July, and so dusk was late and prolonged, but finally I saw that Miss Carter was making her preparations for rest. In all of this time, since our first meeting, she had not left me for even a few minutes. I hoped she was a heavy sleeper. I made my preparations for rest, too, though when I opened my bag, I was careful to hide it with my body from her sight and then to leave it open, with my shawl draped over it, so that I wouldn’t have to risk the sound of the hasp later on. At last we were ready. I eased myself into the lower berth, which, fortunately, I had been lying in before. I said, "Good night, Miss Carter. I hope you sleep well."