Ferryman

by Jonathon Wise

  So when she saw the ‘Welcome to Ferryman’ sign it made her heart jump. Chuck had made it out of Jamestown—it was the only reasonable conclusion. She bit her lower lip and tightened her grip around Charles. The thought of her son finally meeting his father held an emotional grip on her heart.

  No one said a word as they crossed over State Road 62 and headed down the bluff toward the Victorian they called home so long ago. She stroked the hair of her son as she looked at Andy behind the wheel. He had grown into a fine man, a real leader. Andy was the one that finally brought unity to all the villages in Scotland. Chuck had been right about him, and about finding more survivors there. The fatality rate among the Scottish was much lower than that of other nationalities. The latest estimate indicated that roughly one out of every seventy-three Scotts survived the End. That was nearly five-hundred times better than the numbers shown for the States.

  Andy finally cracked a smile as the car rounded a curve overlooking the town below. “There it is.”

  Their eyes met for a second and she could tell that he was as excited about seeing Chuck as she was. She asked, “Do you think about him much?”

  Andy’s eyes lost their focus as he smiled. “It’s not like I’m actually thinking of him…it’s more like I feel his influence in my subconscious. You know what I mean?”

  “Yeah.”

  Charles asked, “Is this the place you told me about?”

  Cindy squeezed him. “Yes! This is where your father and I lived before you were born.”

  Charles stretched his neck out so that he could get a better view over the dash as they took a left on Main Street at the bottom of the hill. The experience of driving along the street after so many years felt dreamlike to her. Everything looked the same as she remembered—yet different. Young trees had sprouted up in clusters around the older trees that lined the street. Vines had completely overtaken some of the smaller houses, and knee-high weeds highlighted every crack in the street and sidewalk. It appeared that the town of Madison was slowly being reclaimed by nature. Cindy pulled back into the cushion of the seat. Chuck wouldn’t have let that happen.

  Just as her hope was starting to fade, she saw the corn, neatly tended and growing in the same field that Jim and Sara had worked so long ago. Her pulse quickened as the old Victorian came into view. She looked over at Andy and saw his excitement as well.

  Andy pulled up along the curb, jumped out and was running up the path through the weeds before Cindy even had Charles out of the car. Andy called out, “Boss!” and ran into the house.

  Cindy took her son’s hand, and then with her chin held high and chest pushed out in pride, she slowly led him along the path to meet his father. They passed the old fire pit on their right, and followed the dirt-worn path up to the wooden platform where Chuck would address the group. The bell was missing from the post, and the platform was rotting and falling apart, but it was still there after all these years. A few steps farther and she heard the commotion of voices in the house. Nothing could take away from the joy she was feeling—not even if he had taken another wife.

  The voices worked their way toward the door and a few seconds later Andy stepped out. He looked lost for a second as his eyes darted back and forth. A second later he stepped aside and Cindy saw the older couple standing behind him. For the briefest of instances she still held on to the hope, but then she saw that it wasn’t Chuck.

  She looked at Andy, as he shook his head and started to say, “This is―”

  The old man helped Andy out and introduced himself. “I’m Robert Weiss and this is my wife Vivian.”

  Cindy stood with her son, five feet from the couple with her mouth hanging open. Charles pointed to the man and asked, “Are you my father?”

  Robert smiled as he bent down to where he and Charles could see eye-to-eye, “No, son, I’m not your father. Are you looking for him?”

  Charles nodded empathetically.

  “What’s your father’s name?”

  “Chuck Bain. He has the same name as me.”

  Robert straightened up with a speed uncharacteristic for a man his age and stared at Cindy. “Chuck Bain?” he asked with a drawn face.

  Cindy nodded and asked with hope, “Does he still live here?”

  The man continued to stare in amazement at her. “Might you be Cindy McKay?”

  Cindy reared back slightly as she cocked her head toward Andy and nodded.

  The old man pushed his face out farther and turned toward Andy. "Then can I assume that you must be Andy Jones?”

  Andy said, “What’s going on, old man?”

  Robert slowly grew a smile that stretched across his face. He reached back and pulled his wife forward as he said, “It’s them!” Vivian reflected her husband’s smile as he probed for clarification. “The stories we’ve heard are true…aren’t they?”

  “What stories are you talking about?” Cindy asked.

  “You,” Robert said, as he pointed at Cindy and then Andy, “him…and the Ferryman.”

  Andy piped in, “What kind of story?”

  Robert cleared his wife out of the way as he gestured toward the door. “Come in and sit. I’ll tell you everything I know.”

  Andy broke from the discussion and yelled out orders to the men in the other two cars. He told them to look around and help wherever they could while the batteries recharged. He swung back around and accepted the hospitality of the older couple.

  Cindy studied the kitchen table as Vivian brought tea for everyone. She felt the worn lip of the wood and ran her hand across the top, but wasn’t sure if it was the same table that she and Chuck ate at every night.

  Andy asked, “There are others here, aren’t there?”

  Robert nodded. “We’ve got two boys and a girl out taking care of the crops. And another boy and girl over at the library down the street—and they have a little girl about half your boy’s age.” Both Cindy and Andy stared at him for a moment, before he understood the basis of their shock, and said, “Not really our children you know, but we’ve all kind of taken a liking to sticking together. You might say that we adopted each other.”

  She and Andy exchanged glances of understanding.

  Robert cleared his throat. “What I can tell you folks is what was told to me. See this place is kind of like a staging ground. Folks come and stay here for a couple of years, learn how to farm and see how the windmills work and things like that. Then as more people come, the first group takes off.” He paused and nodded to himself as Vivian pulled up a chair next to him. “Come next spring we’ll take off.”

  Vivian put her arm around her husband as Andy asked, “Why would you take off?”

  “That’s just the way it’s been done. Our responsibility is to go out and teach what we’ve learned here to any others we come across as well as spread the word about this place. That way more people will come and the process continues.”

  “Who told you to do that?”

  “The man who led the group here before us. His name was…” Robert tipped back in the chair and searched his memory as both Cindy and Andy leaned closer. A second later he slapped his hand down on the table and said, “Terry Walton was his name. Group before him told him just like he told me.” Andy nodded. “Along with telling us what to do…they passed on the story of…” Robert lost himself as he stared at Cindy and Andy again. “They pass on the story of you guys. To tell you the truth I always thought it was just a fairytale used to motivate the younger folk.”

  Cindy hoisted Charles onto her lap and for the next twenty minutes the three of them listened to the old man recount the story of their battle with Jason. Whether it was the story itself, or just the way the old man told it, listening to it after all these years made it sound somewhat biblical. Andy blushed when Robert told the stories of his heroic ventures to save the unfortunate from Jason’s tyranny. But it wasn’t until the old man spoke with reverence about the battles of Versailles and Jamestown that their emotions nearly got the better of bot
h of them. It was the first time Cindy heard what Chuck went through in Jamestown to buy their freedom. She knew how much he loved Teresa, and she knew how hard it must have been for him to throw the dynamite. She pushed back from the table as tears silently trickled down her face.

  After a couple of minutes for Cindy to collect herself, Robert told them that it was the few men and women that survived the Battle of Jamestown that started spreading the story of the Ferryman. It was the Ferryman who showed them that Jason wasn’t doing God’s work. People also started talking about what the Ferryman had done in this town. “As the stories I just told you started to spread, they gave people the strength to start believing again.” Robert put his arm around his wife and said, “For us…this was kind of a pilgrimage.”

  Cindy leaned across the table. “Do you know whatever happened to Chuck?”

  Robert shook his head. “Sorry Miss, I sure don’t.”

  Vivian nudged him and said, “Tell them about the flowers!”

  Cindy’s eyes shot back to Robert, “What flowers!”

  “Well I can’t really say for sure what it means…if anything, but…” he pushed his chair back and got up, “…if you all want to follow me outside, I’ll show you what we got.”

  Cindy took Charles by the hand and followed the old couple out the front door and around to the side of the house to a neatly kept flower garden bordered by railroad ties.

  Robert pointed to it and said, “Don’t really know what it means, but Terry told me to keep it free of weeds and full of flowers. Told me to make sure that whoever comes after me does the same.” He pointed to the tulips blooming in the corner. “My Vivian put those bulbs down herself. Everyone that comes through here adds a little bit of themselves to it.”

  Cindy looked over the bed of mixed flowers and roses as she remembered what Chuck told her. During the life she shared with him, he mentioned several times how much his wife had loved this house. It was never said with a passing casualness—he would say it and then stand back and look at the house. He said that she thought the house was perfect, except that it needed a flower garden.

  Cindy studied the flowers—so much color, so much beauty. That was when she knew she was right about the rotten backpack. Chuck discarded it when he took one of the cars. He didn’t die at the battle of Jamestown. He made it back here. He came back to build this flower garden for his dead wife—his one true love.

  A sense of calm suddenly spread through her as she realized where Chuck was. She squeezed Charles’ hand, and said to Andy, “We need to go to the river.”

  As Andy took her hand and started to lead her and Charles back to the street, Mr. Weiss yelled, “Is it okay for us to continue staying here?”

  Andy turned and looked at the old couple standing arm-in-arm. He said, “Of course it is! That’s what this place is for. That was Chuck’s dream. He wanted a place where people could come and feel safe and loved; a place where hope would never die. All we ask is that you keep the tradition alive and pass it on to those who come after you.”

  ~~~

  Cindy wasn’t sure how she would react as they started walking down the boat ramp. She thought she might lose it and collapse, but as she put one foot in front of the other and came upon the rippling waters of the Ohio, she didn’t feel like breaking down—she felt proud. She pulled Charles around and held him in front of her as she looked out to the muddy waters.

  “You think?” Andy asked.

  Cindy slowly nodded her head. “I think he got hurt in Jamestown and came back here to die. He wanted to be with his wife. You know he never stopped loving her.” She smiled and looked down at the curly black flocks of hair on her son’s head. Without realizing it, she inched forward until the cold waters were flowing over her and her son’s feet.

  Andy bent down and scooped up Charles in his right arm. As he stood up, he pulled Cindy back from the water’s edge and slid his left arm around her. For a couple of minutes they simply stood there in silence and stared out over the Ohio. Then Cindy took a deep breath and laid her head against his shoulder.

  Charles pointed and asked, “Did my father drown in the river?”

  Andy raised his eyebrows and said, “That’s where he’s buried, but he didn’t drown. He died saving all of us.”

  “Even me?”

  Andy smiled. “Yes…you too. You weren’t born yet, but he saved you just the same.” He waited for the boy to look at him before he said, “You know your daddy always knew that you would live.”

  The boy scratched his nose and said, “I was the first one!”

  “Yes you were. You know how your daddy knew that you’d live?” The boy shook his head. “Because he loved you so much that he could see you in his dreams.” The boy smiled and looked back out over the water.

  Andy pulled Cindy closer as she slid her arm around his waist. As they stood and watched the rippling waters of the Ohio River flow by, he whispered softly, “He was a father to more than he knew.”

  THE END