Of Ashes and Dust

by Marc Graham

  Nothing seemed out of the ordinary as I bent to peer into the wagon—just small crates and bags of dry goods, neatly stacked at the mouth of the cargo area. I glanced back at Mister Barnes, and the nod of his chin suggested I dig deeper. I shoved aside crates and sacks to make a gap in the pile of supplies.

  My heart leapt to my throat as two pairs of eyes stared back at me, their whites glowing brightly out of the darkness. Zeke and Ketty lay huddled together beneath the heavy tarpaulin cover of the wagon, within inches of my outstretched hand. Ketty gripped Zeke’s arm that wrapped around her. In his other hand he clasped the small totem carving he normally wore around his neck, and he rubbed the dark wood with his thumb and forefinger.

  “What is it, JD?” I heard Barnes ask, and his voice seemed so far away.

  I swallowed hard as I looked at Ketty, her face twisted into a mask of fear. My gaze shifted back to Zeke. The way he lay, I could just make out the lash marks across his back. The blood drained from my face, and I lowered my eyes. A touch on my hand made me look back. Pleading and forgiveness filled Zeke’s eyes as he placed the small carving in my palm and closed my fist around it.

  “Ain’t nothing,” I managed to squeak out. I cleared my throat and pulled myself out from the wagon. “Just some salted pork is all. I reckon Argos is a mite hungry after chasing halfway across the county tonight.”

  Barnes grinned and chuckled at that, and the tension evaporated as he eased his rifle down.

  “If he is hungry,” van der Meer said, “I got me a nice knuckle bone for him to chew on.”

  With that, the merchant dove into the back of the wagon and rearranged the goods I’d shifted in my search. He emerged with the promised treat, which he handed to Argos while he patted my shoulder. Silent gratitude sparkled in his eyes before he replaced his mercenary mask, turned and hitched up the tailgate.

  My heart was still pounding away and my knees went wobbly. I sank to the ground, covering my weakness by fussing over Argos who happily gnawed on the bone.

  “Sorry for the misunderstanding, Jacob,” Mister Barnes offered. “We’ll stop by the ferryman’s shack and see if we can’t get you on your way a bit sooner.”

  “Thank you, Benjamin,” the peddler said. He stretched up a trembling hand, which Barnes leaned down to shake. “You all be safe, ja?”

  “We will,” Barnes assured him. “Don’t be a stranger, hear? Charlotte’s eager for more of those fashion books from back east. Ready, JD?”

  “Yes, sir,” I said.

  I hefted myself back into the saddle while van der Meer climbed up to his seat on the wagon. I reined the horse to follow Mister Barnes, whistled for Argos and took a last glimpse at the wagon. It felt as though I was leaving a part of myself behind, that I would never again be the boy I’d been.

  As I followed Barnes up from the river landing, I chanced a glimpse at the small carving in my hand. It was just two inches long, cylindrical, with a leather thong threaded through a hole in one end. The charm was carved all over with strange whorls and swirling patterns, but now seemed to possess none of the magic I’d always associated with it.

  Maybe it just used it all up, I thought.

  I looped the thong around my neck and tucked the figurine beneath my shirt. I squinted my eyes against the morning sun that was just beginning to cast its rays over the peaks of the Ozarks and felt the wonder of a new day dawning.

  The totem on its thong is twisted so that it drapes across my back. I’m struck again by the strange patterns, the swirls now grotesquely repeated in the shredded cloth of my shirt and the torn flesh of my back. Belatedly, I realize that I’m staring at myself, watching from above as my body lies sprawled among the scrub brush.

  A wave of vertigo rolls over me. I reel away and look about the familiar plain. A plume of black and grey dust rises from the shaved-off peak of Hundley’s Pass, the cloud draping the sun with a mourning veil.

  “Jim.”

  I turn toward the voice to find a group of men racing toward me. I wave to them, try to tell them I’m fine, but they ignore me, intent on the body that lies beneath me.

  “Easy now,” one of the men says. His dark face is familiar, but his name is lost to me. “Let’s roll him in nice and gentle.”

  A quilt is shaken out next to my body, and strong hands grip me by the shoulders and ankles to ease me onto the makeshift stretcher. Despite their care, pain surges through the burned and torn flesh, but the feeling is simply a report of my senses: the earth is brown, my blood is red, every nerve of my body is afire.

  My eyes flicker open and my awareness is constricted as I’m forced to see through the narrow slits.

  “Zeke?” I say to the face that looms over me, my voice no more than a whisper.

  “No, it’s me—Seth. You just rest now, and we’ll get you fixed up. Don’t you worry none.”

  My eyes close, and I find myself once more floating above my battered shell. I watch as the men nod to each other and lift the corners of the quilt. My body is raised off the ground and, as it passes through the space where I’m floating, the pain is no longer an impersonal observation.

  I feel the fire in my back, the seep of blood from ruptured organs, the grate of bone upon shattered bone. I try to scream, but I have no breath. My ears ring with the echoes of the explosion, all but drowning out the shriek of a steam whistle.

  CHAPTER THREE

  Van Buren, Arkansas—September 1854

  The shrill sound cut through the thick morning air. I looked up to see a black plume of smoke and a thin white cloud of steam rising from behind the trees, where a steamboat waited at the Van Buren docks. As suddenly as it started, the whistle stopped and was replaced by the steady clop-clip-clop of horses’ hooves beating out a tattoo against the hard-packed clay road. The rhythm was underscored by the swish of tails and by Argos’s panting as he trotted alongside me. I rode on horseback, following the wagon where Ma and Pa sat behind Mister and Missus Barnes, along with Becca and Angelina. Beside me, Matty rode astride his own horse.

  The dumpy little boy of just two years ago had been replaced by a lean, fit young man. The gentle disposition had also been replaced, but this change was not so attractive. The meek, timid boy had become arrogant and callous, and insecurity had grown into a vain cocksureness. He must have felt my stare, for he turned his head and bore his green eyes straight into me.

  I held his glance for a sliver of time before lowering my eyes and staring at the space between my horse’s ears. I could still feel his gaze, and the very air around me seemed to crackle with the cloud of his disapproval.

  Don’t you never, ever say such a thing again. The words still echoed in my head. You ain’t nothing but a hired hand—not fit to look at her, let alone talk about her or even think of her that way.

  That had been Matty’s reaction when he found the initials I’d carved inside a heart on the big walnut tree in his yard, and I admitted to him that I thought Angelina was . . . well, pretty. Lovely would have been a truer description, or heart-breaking, mind-numbingly beautiful. Considering how that meager compliment had been received, I reckoned it was just as well I’d been sparing in my praise.

  The tables had turned between us after Zeke and Ketty’s escape. Mister Barnes had recounted his side of the tale, but Matty soon guessed the truth of the matter.

  “Jews don’t eat hog meat, dummy,” he’d told me privately. “They don’t even touch the stuff. I’ll be a long-eared jackrabbit if the back of that wagon was loaded with salt pork. Sweaty monkey’s more like it.”

  He wasn’t big enough to threaten me bodily, but his temper put fear into me.

  “I’ll tell Pa about Zeke. He might put up with your pa being a drunk, but I let on you helped Zeke run off, you and your family’ll be kicked out faster’n you can say, ‘Boo.’ ”

  So went the oft-repeated threat. I’d never been much above a slave, but I might as well have clamped on an iron collar now.

  I followed the wagon through the streets
of Van Buren and down toward the dock, retracing the path of two years earlier. Matty cleared his throat and raised his eyebrows, in case I missed the irony. Then he spurred his horse ahead of the wagon.

  “Ho, there, step aside,” he shouted as he cleared a path through the crowded streets.

  Slaves shuffled back and forth between the dock’s warehouse and the SS Ben Franklin, backs bowed under the weight of baggage or cotton bales, and leg muscles taut beneath thin trousers.

  I pressed on behind the wagon, mumbling my apologies to the men forced to wait for us to pass. Mister Barnes drew his team to a halt outside the shipping office. The brick façade opened directly onto First Street, while a floating rear staircase led down to the docks. I hopped down from my horse and tied the reins to the wagon as Pa limped up the stairs behind Mister Barnes.

  “C’mon, Squirt,” I said to Becca.

  I reached up to the wagon for her outstretched hands. She squealed as I flung her over my shoulder like a sack of potatoes. Still shy of seven, she wasn’t yet ladylike enough to mind being manhandled by her big brother. Ma, on the other hand, was plenty ladylike enough for the both of them. I spun Becca around twice before Ma’s “James Douglas Robbins!” ended the horseplay and I lowered a dizzy bundle to the ground.

  Becca swayed a little as she fixed me with an oh-so-serious look, planted one fist on her hip and waggled a forefinger at me.

  “You should know better, young man,” she scolded, nostrils flaring as she fought back the giggles.

  “Yes, ma’am,” I said, then grabbed the pointing finger and shook her hand in mine.

  “That’s enough, you two,” Ma said from her seat atop the wagon. “Hand me down, Jimmy.”

  I gave Becca a playful smack on the cheek and dodged her return swat, then reached up to help Ma down. I steadied her as she stepped on the running board, then wrapped my hands around her waist and lowered her to the ground. She looked up at me for a moment with a mix of pride and sadness before she turned to fuss over Becca.

  “My turn,” came a soft, warm voice behind me.

  I turned to see Angelina waiting atop the wagon, her hand held out to me in a gesture both commanding and inviting. I glanced at the other side of the wagon, where Matty stood ready to help his mother down. His pale-green eyes flashed daggers at me, but he said nothing.

  “It’s rude to keep a lady waiting,” Angelina said.

  She crooked a slender finger at me, beckoning me to come. Unable to resist the call, I forced my feet to carry me to the wagon, then stretched out a trembling hand to help her down.

  Her touch sent a jolt through me, like the buildup in the air before a summer storm. Her hand was soft and supple, but its grip in mine was firm. Once on the running board, she put her hands on my shoulders, and a hint of lilac filled the air around me. She leaned deeply toward me and the loose tresses of her copper-red hair cascaded over one shoulder. I tried to avert my eyes, but they were drawn to the loose cut of her dress that revealed milky-white skin from an elegant throat to a shadow of cleavage, before delicate white lace drew a veil over any further treasures.

  I swallowed my longing as I lowered her to the ground, and her lingering touch on my shoulders deepened the yearning. She held my gaze for countless seconds, her eyes level with mine and the bouquet of her presence sweetening the air. At last her eyes narrowed and a sly smile crimped the fullness of her lips.

  “Why, thank you, sir,” she said, then turned to join Ma in fussing over Becca.

  I stepped to the rear of the wagon and began unloading valises and travel trunks—in part to be helpful, but mainly to work the fire out of my blood.

  “Miss Barnes,” a deep voice boomed in greeting.

  I turned to see the unmistakable figure of Captain Braddock, a young army officer from Fort Smith. The man had spent a good deal of his free time during the past summer at the Barnes farm. Far more time than was to my liking.

  “Simon,” I heard Angelina say, despite my attempts not to listen.

  “I’m so pleased I was able to catch you before you boarded. Missus Barnes.” The soldier greeted the older woman with a bow and flourish of his campaign hat.

  “Captain,” Missus Barnes said, her voice full of flowers and silk. “Were you able to arrange your leave?”

  “Sadly, no,” Braddock said. “The colonel was quite insistent that he wouldn’t be able to do without me, not even for the time it would take to steam to Little Rock and back.”

  “Oh, surely there’s nothing so important that he can’t do without you for a few days,” Missus Barnes insisted. “Suppose I had a little chat with him . . . ?”

  “I’m afraid not, ma’am. Colonel Jeffreys is quite resolute. I doubt that even your charms could persuade him.”

  “Captain,” Mister Barnes said gruffly as he led Pa back from the shipping office.

  “Good morning, sir.”

  “Now, JD, there’s porters to take care of that,” Barnes said.

  “Yes, sir,” I replied, and set down an especially heavy trunk.

  I couldn’t imagine how one person could need enough clothes to fill a trunk but, between them, Matty and Angelina filled three trunks and two valises. Besides what I had on my back, my own belongings—two pairs of woolen socks, a change of drawers, a set of long handles, a Sunday shirt and a dog-eared Bible—barely made a lump in my burlap travel sack.

  “Are you going along to Little Rock, too?” Braddock asked me.

  “That’s right,” I blurted out, and Pa shot me a warning glare. “Uh, yes, sir.”

  “Well, that’s fine,” Braddock said. “Once you learn to read and write properly, the army can always use a few well-trained enlisted men.”

  “Thank you, sir,” I said through gritted teeth.

  Mister Barnes hailed a team of slaves, who hefted the trunks and carried them to the riverboat.

  “May I have a word with you, JD?” he said, his voice oddly soft.

  I nodded and followed him to a spot away from the others.

  “Don’t mind Braddock,” he said. “He’s a pompous ass.”

  “Yes, sir,” I said.

  “You have enough money for the trip?”

  I blinked at him and managed to stammer, “Plenty, sir.”

  “Here, take this.” He pulled a small roll of bank notes from his shirt pocket.

  “No, sir,” I said. “Thank you, but I can’t. You’ve been more than generous already.”

  And that was the truth. Angelina had spent the past few years with Missus Barnes’s sister in Little Rock, just coming home for summer. This year Matty would go with her, and Mister Barnes had arranged for me to join them for schooling. He’d even set up an apprenticeship with a blacksmith called Rawls so I could earn my keep while learning a trade.

  Barnes smiled at me and put the cash back in his pocket.

  “I’m glad we’re able to give you this chance, son,” he said. “You listen close to what Rawls has to teach you, but don’t forget to have fun. A young man, his first time away from home, in the big city. Enjoy yourself, now, but don’t get too deep over your head, y’hear?”

  “Yes, sir,” I replied, though I wasn’t sure exactly what he meant.

  “There’s one more thing,” he said, and rubbed the back of his neck. “Matty’s still a boy, about to enter a man’s world. I know he thinks he’s ready. Been champing at the bit for months now, years maybe. I’ve tried to make a man out of him, but . . .” A sigh. “Well, Missus Barnes coddled him for too long, and the man he’s looking to become ain’t what I had in mind for him. It’s one thing to scratch and crow at slaves and the like”—the like being me, I gathered—“but the real world ain’t so forgiving.”

  Barnes took a deep breath, looked me in the eye and finally came to his point.

  “I’ll look after your ma and Becca while you’re gone.”

  I blushed at that. Pa’s troubles just weren’t something we talked about.

  “At the same time,” Barnes continued, “I’d
like you to look after Matty, see he don’t fall too far too fast. And, if you have to knock him down a time or two in the process, well . . .”

  I started to protest, but he raised a hand to shush me.

  “You two have been friends since before you could crawl. I know you’ve had a falling out here of late. I don’t know why, and I don’t need to know. But I’m asking you, in the name of the friendship you’ve had, in the name of your pa’s and my friendship, keep an eye on my boy.” He gave a helpless shrug. “Maybe you can succeed where I’ve failed, help turn him into the kind of man you’re becoming.”

  I blinked a time or two and finally said, “Yes, sir. I’ll do my best.”

  The boat’s steam whistle tore through the morning air, and a gruff voice boomed out over the docks.

  “All aboard for the steamboat Ben Franklin. All ashore who’re going ashore.”

  Mister Barnes patted my shoulder and steered me back toward the wagon where tearful farewells were already being made. Ma placed her hands on my cheeks, pulled my head down for a kiss and gave me a hug.

  “Don’t you worry about us,” she whispered in my ear.

  Pa had quit the laudanum but taken to whiskey instead. In place of opium’s stupor, his new medicine threw him into fits of rage, mixed with tearful rounds of sorrow and remorse. He’d never hit Ma or Becca, and I did my best to egg him on and get in his way when I saw a spell coming on, to make sure I was the one to take the brunt of his anger.

  “How can I not worry?” I said.

  “We’ll be fine,” Ma said. “I’m proud of you, Jimmy. Know there’s nothing you can’t do, if you set your mind to it. And know I love you.”

  I’d tried to keep my emotions in check, but my heart melted at that and I tightened my arms about her, lifting her slightly off the ground. After a moment’s embrace I set her back down and stooped to kiss her on a cheek wet with tears. I turned away before tears could form in my own eyes, and knelt beside Becca.