Rush Home Road

by Lori Lansens

  “I know.” The young man cast his eyes. “I’m sorry if I was disturbing you before. It’s just, I forget sometimes that not everyone likes to talk as much as I do. My mother used to tell me I shouldn’t act so familiar with people.”

  Addy just looked at the man.

  “She said remember that just because I get excited about a thing doesn’t mean the rest of the world will. I remember that most times, but I guess my mouth forgets.”

  Addy smiled accidentally and wished she hadn’t, for the young man grinned broadly and thought he was forgiven. He leaned a little closer. “May I ask your name?”

  “Why?” Addy shivered and wondered if his inquiry had something to do with the incidents in Rusholme.

  “I have something to give you, but it’s special and not something I’d give to a stranger. If I know your name you won’t be a stranger.”

  Addy considered lying about her name but when she opened her mouth the truth was on her tongue. “My name is Adelaide Shadd. Mostly I’m called Addy.”

  “Pleasure to make your acquaintance, Addy. My name is Gradison Mosely. They call me George here on the train,” he said, squinting into the crowded car ahead, “but my friends back home call me Mose.”

  “Why they call you George if your name is Mose?”

  “All the porters are called George. After George Pullman. He’s the rich fella who started the Pullman Palace Car Company. Sleeping car, that is. This train doesn’t have a sleeping car but the passengers call us George anyway.”

  Addy nodded, sorry she’d asked.

  “Me and the other fellas are trying to get name tags put on our uniforms. I won’t turn around any more when people call me George.” With that, Gradison Mosely reached into his uniform pocket and pulled out a small book. He passed her the book, saying, “I don’t like to see my passengers getting dizzy from the view so I thought, well, this is one of the finest books ever written.”

  Addy read the cover out loud. “Walden Pond.”

  “By Henry David Thoreau. American fella, but don’t hold that against him.”

  Addy surprised herself and giggled. “I won’t.”

  “Read it slow as you can. It’s like a fine meal. You don’t want to gulp it but savour it so you can taste it in your memory when you’re long done.”

  Addy’s skin bubbled, for she’d never heard a person talk in such a way. “If I read it slow, how can I finish it before Toronto?”

  Gradison Mosely shrugged. “All right if you don’t.”

  Addy did not know what young Mr. Mosely’s intentions were and thought it strange that this white man would just give her a book and ask nothing in return. She figured the young man’s Mama likely have something to say about that too, but she accepted the book gratefully. When Gradison Mosely asked where she’d be living in Toronto she told him with slight hesitation, “I’m not sure exactly. I know a man there, a doctor friend of my Poppa’s. He’s going to help me find a place to live.”

  The strange young man nodded and left her once again.

  There was just enough time to open the book and read the first line before a shadow crossed the page and made her look up. She had no doubt it was Gradison Mosely returning and was shocked to see another, older conductor standing there beside the fancy gentleman with the blue silk scarf. She smiled, though she was unsure why the man had come. Although he’d seen the diamond ring at the station, he couldn’t know yet she meant to sell it. She closed her book and nodded politely. “Hello.”

  The fancy gentleman did not nod politely as he’d done before and the conductor’s face looked severe. “This gentleman here claims you have something that belongs to him.”

  Addy had no idea what the conductor could be referring to. She only thought to say, “I do?”

  Gradison Mosely appeared then and asked his superior, “Can I help with anything, Sir?”

  Whatever the matter was, the conductor was cross and wanted it to be over quickly. “This gentleman,” he said, gesturing at the mustachioed man, “claims this coloured girl stole a diamond ring from him back at the station.”

  Addy did not gasp in horror or cry or plead innocence. She merely looked at the man’s face and thought how clever the devil’s disguise. “Well, Sir,” she said to the conductor, “I do have a ring. But it was given me by my Poppa back in Detroit and most surely does not belong to this man here.”

  Mose watched young Addy Shadd’s face, wishing he could know from the timbre of her voice if she was telling the truth. The conductor glanced at the man, then turned back to Addy. “Do you have any identification papers?”

  “No.”

  “What’s your citizenship?”

  “I’m Canadian.”

  “But your father lives in Detroit?”

  “My Poppa lives in Detroit,” Addy corrected.

  “What’s his name?”

  Addy shivered, for she could see this would not go well and decided she could not even begin to explain. She felt tears spring to her eyes and blinked them back angrily. “The ring is mine,” she said, looking at Gradison Mosely.

  The devil sneered at Addy, then turned back to the conductor. “I had the ring before I went to the lavatory and it was gone when I came out. This girl bumped into me and I believe she lifted it from my pocket. It’s in a little midnight blue velvet box.”

  “Where is it?” the conductor asked.

  Addy reached into the side pocket of the leather suitcase and withdrew the little blue box with trembling hands. She felt defeated and was prepared to hand the thing over when she caught sight of the chatty old country woman snoozing in her seat at the back. “That old woman.” Addy pointed. “That woman was with me and I showed her the ring and it was when she was looking at it that this man here caught a glimpse.”

  Gradison turned to see where Addy pointed and said, “That’s Willow Ferguson. I know her well. She’s been riding this train for years.”

  The conductor snorted, disgusted by Addy’s vain attempt, and gestured for Gradison Mosely to wake the woman and bring her over. Willow Ferguson looked groggy and confused as the tall white ticket taker led her to where Addy sat trembling and clasping the little velvet box.

  “Ma’am,” the conductor began, “this girl says she showed you a diamond ring?”

  “Yes,” the woman answered, looking at Adelaide strangely.

  Gradison Mosely spoke up, ignoring the stare from his superior. “She say where she got the ring from, Mizz Ferguson?”

  “Yes. She said her Poppa give her the ring.”

  The conductor glanced at the man with the moustache, hoping he was not being made a fool of. He turned back to the old woman. “And when exactly was it she showed it to you?”

  “Oh I don’t know. Guess it was just before the train come in. We were talking about my granddaughter Olivia’s wedding and she said she had this ring she was wanting to sell.”

  “Uh-huh!” the devil shouted. “You see! That proves she stole it! What kind of person would sell an heirloom from her Poppa?”

  Addy hated the way the man said Poppa’s name and hated the way he seemed so certain he’d emerge victorious in this fraud.

  “Did she say where she came from?” the conductor asked the old woman.

  “Well she said something about Detroit, didn’t you, Child?”

  Addy nodded and smiled gratefully. The man with the moustache was outraged. “Well anyone can see they’re in cahoots!”

  The conductor looked at the man squarely. “Can you describe the ring, Sir?”

  “Of course I can,” the devil said plainly. “It’s a marquise diamond set with two green emeralds and a white-gold band. I purchased it from a private dealer in Windsor and meant to propose with it to my intended on my return to Montreal.”

  It was the old woman who noticed and clucked her tongue. “Looks to me like you married enough, Sir. What with that gold band already on your wedding finger.”

  The man paled and hid his hand, fumbling for an explanation. “I
do wear a wedding ring, yes, you see, because, because I’m sorry to say I find modern women terribly solicitous around unmarried men and I wish to avoid the embarrassment of—well, that’s neither here nor there. This girl stole my ring. How dare you question me!”

  The conductor cleared his throat. If the man’s description matched the ring, he’d put the girl off at the next station stop and have the local police take over. He’d already decided she was guilty. “You best show us the ring, Girl.”

  Addy passed over the box. The conductor opened it. He had no idea what a marquise diamond looked like but he recognized the two other gems as green and the band as white gold and that was good enough. Gradison peered inside the box, disconcerted to find the description matched. They all looked at Addy.

  She could not guess how the strength came to her legs, but Addy rose to standing and looked squarely into the devil’s blue eyes. “Well,” she said, because she’d suddenly remembered. “Can you tell these people what other valuable thing lies beneath the square in that velvet box? Sir?”

  The man returned Addy’s contempt but he was afraid too, not only to be caught out in his deception, but because if there was another jewel hidden in the box it could be even more valuable than the ring. He cleared his throat. “Yes, as a matter of fact.” He stalled as his mind reeled. The box was small and it was not likely it held another ring or anything as large as a brooch. He cleared his throat once more and ventured, “Yes. There’s also a small diamond pendant on a delicate gold chain.”

  Gradison knew the man was lying. “And you bought the necklace from the same private dealer?”

  “Yes,” the man answered coolly. “But if it’s not in the box that’s hardly proof. She may have sold the necklace already.” The man grinned and thought himself terribly clever. “Or she may have stolen a different jewel from another passenger and put it there in its place.”

  Even the conductor was becoming suspicious. Gradison turned to Addy and asked softly, “What else is in the box?”

  Addy was too angry for tears. “There’s a lock of my baby son’s hair. He died three days ago and I don’t care if you take my ring or my suitcase or all the clothes off my back, I want that little curl of my baby boy’s hair ’cause it’s all I got to remember him.”

  The conductor opened the velvet box once more and pulled the little square on which the diamond ring sat. There, as Addy told, was a tiny curl of soft black hair.

  “That proves nothing!” the man with the moustache squawked. “It’s a ridiculous story. She’s a charlatan! There’s no baby! She’s a child herself! She put that lock of hair there just to fool us all!”

  The conductor closed the velvet box, sure now it was the man who was the charlatan and not the sad young coloured girl. He passed the velvet box back to Addy. But the devil continued to protest, desperate for some kind of victory. “Put her off the train! I demand that you put that THIEF off the train! I promise you that I will not move from this spot and I will shout loud enough for all of the passengers to hear, that this nigger girl has stolen my ring and justice has been undone!”

  Addy crumpled into the seat by the window and though she had the ring back in her possession she could not feel relieved or vindicated. She only felt sad and guilty that she’d forgotten about the lock of her son’s hair, even for an instant. She barely noticed when the mustachioed man stopped yelling and the conductor told her quietly and with regret that he’d have to put her off the train at Chatham. She’d nodded, hardly caring, and looked out the window, wondering if what happened meant that God was watching over her or had abandoned her once again.

  When the old woman eased into the seat beside her, Addy was grateful. And when she took Addy’s trembling hand in her own callused, steady one, Addy was certain the Lord was watching. “Thank you, Ma’am, Mizz Ferguson,” she said.

  “You call me Willow. And your name is Addy? Addy what?”

  “Addy Shadd.”

  “Shadd? I believe my son used to know some Shadds. They don’t come from Detroit though.”

  “Thank you for your kindness, Ma’am.”

  “Just returning your own, Child. I don’t forget you give me that nice apple to slake my hunger. And I know you was telling the truth about that diamond ring.”

  Addy was further grateful that Willow Ferguson didn’t ask any nosy questions about her dead son. The two women just sat quietly, hand in hand, looking out at the flat snowy landscape.

  Gradison Mosely waited until his superior was busy in the overcrowded coach ahead before he returned. His green eyes were filled with concern and his cheeks flushed pink against his pale white skin. He whispered, “What’ll you do about getting to Toronto?”

  Addy shrugged, unable to think beyond the moment. The old woman squeezed Addy’s hand and answered for her, “I think this young lady need a day or two rest before she decides where she’s going and what she’ll do. You come to my son’s house in Chatham. It ain’t fancy, maybe it ain’t what you’re used to, but my son and his wife are good people and with Olivia moving out there’s an extra bed for long as you need.”

  Shame filled Addy, for she’d hated this old woman and her country manners and chattiness and couldn’t have guessed how she’d reveal herself a saviour. Addy didn’t look Gradison Mosely in the eye as she held up his book and said, “Suppose you should take this back, Sir.”

  The young man shook his head. “I’m not Sir, I’m Mose, and I already told you, you can keep it.” With that, he tipped his cap and left.

  The old woman chuckled. “Mose got eyes for you.”

  Addy looked at Willow, shocked and speechless.

  “But don’t put much faith in it. I seen him working his flirtations on many a pretty young passenger.”

  “But he’s white,” Addy whispered, trying not to sound horrified.

  “You’re young, but I know you lived some lives already. Do you think a white man couldn’t be sweet on a Negro girl or even the other way around? It happens, Addy. But see, Mose ain’t exactly white anyway.”

  “He ain’t?”

  Willow shook her head. “His Mama’s Negro and his Daddy’s white.”

  “How’d you know?”

  “Oh, I been riding this train for years. I was here when he started when he was all of seventeen years old. I figured what I figured and I just asked him was I right.”

  “Oh.”

  “He comes from Africville out East. You heard of that place?”

  “No.”

  “You never heard of Africville?”

  “No.”

  “And you never knew anyone who was half coloured and half white?”

  “No, I never did.”

  The old woman shook her head and sucked her teeth. “What world you been living in, Child?”

  Addy paused a moment, looking into Willow Ferguson’s eyes, then she took a deep breath and told the old woman about the world she’d been living in. About Chestnut Street and Poppa and Verilynn and Riley and Enos and Emeline and how it was just days ago but seemed like years when she felt the pains and knew her baby was coming. Willow listened to the story and just nodded. Addy left out the earlier parts about Rusholme and Zach Heron so Willow just assumed Riley was the father of her baby and was glad Addy hadn’t stayed there in Detroit to forgive him.

  “I myself had two babies die and there’s no word a person can offer as comfort.”

  Addy thought she was right.

  “Just don’t punish yourself is all. And don’t be sad all your life now. Let go some grief, a little every day, else you won’t never feel much of anything, happy or sad, again.”

  Addy closed her eyes and found some peace in slumber. She’d slept for what seemed only seconds before Willow shook her gently and whispered, “Chatham, Addy. We’re nearly at Chatham.”

  The train slowed for miles and finally came to a full stop. Willow and Addy made their way to the exit door, but there was no conductor to help them off and the distance to the ground was too great to
chance a jump. Addy saw that the passengers in the cars ahead were being helped off the train first, some already rushing into the arms of their loved ones on the foggy platform. She sighed and reckoned they’d just have to wait, but Willow Ferguson was impatient. She heaved open the steel door like a professional and craned out for a look, smiling when she saw her grown son striding toward the train looking crisp and clean in his best church suit. She waved and called out, “Hamond! Over here!”

  Hamond, who was in his early forties but looked much older with his weathered farmer skin and his greying hair, reached up with both arms and found his mother’s waist through the folds of her shabby coat. He lifted her to the ground in one swing and tried not to let on how his back hurt when she protested she was too heavy.

  Addy stood at the train door and shuddered when a blast of cold damp air hit her face. Something frightened her but she couldn’t tell what it was. She couldn’t tell if she was afraid of being in Chatham where she knew her father worked, so near to Rusholme and all her ghosts. She couldn’t tell if it was a leftover fear of the man who’d accused her of stealing, whom she could see now grinning and watching from his seat in the coach ahead. And she couldn’t help but wonder if it was Willow’s son, Hamond, causing this fresh crop of fear, for he’d looked disturbed when Willow explained she’d be coming along. When he reached up and lifted her down, he looked at her strangely, and Addy thought she heard him whisper, “I know you. I know all about you.”

  Salt

  MRS. PIGOT, THE FIRST-GRADE teacher, was standing over Sharla, flicking her red fingernails like she did when she wanted a fight. Sharla was silent, in the thrall of the fat yellow boogers riding hairs in Mrs. Pigot’s nostrils. The teacher opened her mouth and Sharla winced at the spoiled-turkey smell of her breath.

  “I asked you a question, Sharla Cody,” the teacher said in her slow, slurry voice, as the other children watched and waited, fearing and hoping for the worst.

  Sharla didn’t know how to explain why she hadn’t handed in her work page or why it was still in her lift-up desk or why she hadn’t brought it home at all since it was called homework.