To Live Forever: An Afterlife Journey of Meriwether Lewis

by Watkins, Andra

  It was Mister Jim who taunted me. “Suit yourself. You can probably rustle up some berries or swamp weed to gnaw on. Just make sure it’s not poisonous.”

  “How will I know whether something is poisonous or not, Mister Jim?”

  Merry smiled. “Well, the poisonous stuff does give you the runs, and—”

  “Ew!” I plugged my ears. Maybe I wasn’t cut out to be a Wonder Twin tomboy, after all. I didn’t want to kill my dinner or worry about which plant was poisonous. My voice rang between my fingers, like I was talking underwater. “What’s wrong with going to the grocery store for food, huh?”

  Merry picked up a pair of binoculars from the console and ran them over the skyline. “Not seeing any grocery stores out there, Em. Nope. Nary a one. It’s a big fat nothing. What do you think people did before they could buy food at the store?”

  I swatted a bug away from my face. “They killed it and ate it. That’s what my history book says. But that was a million years ago, when they had to. We don’t do it that way anymore. Because there are grocery stores. And McDonalds.”

  Merry and Mister Jim exchanged a look I didn’t understand, and Mister Jim’s voice was serious.

  “Something about those folks before, though. They caught it themselves. They killed it themselves. They skinned it themselves. And they grew it themselves. Not a bad skill to have, scrounging your own vittles. You can always take care of yourself, wherever you’re stranded.”

  I stomped my foot on the top of the ladder. “Well. I know I can find our not-breathing, not-swimming, not-poisonous breakfast from a not-scary box.”

  I huffed down the ladder into the broken light below, their laughter chasing me with each rung. Stupid men. Making fun of me. I’d show them I could find something good to eat.

  In the cooler, I found some milk. Cans toppled out of a cabinet and pinged around the floor, but I forgot to pick them up when I saw the box of Boo-Berry Cereal. My very favorite.

  I pulled out the cereal and three glasses. Cereal always tasted best in a glass, not a bowl. I could pour more milk on it and drink the sugary purple liquid at the end. Plus, I didn’t need a spoon to eat the cereal. It was what Aunt Bertie called “efficient.”

  Boo-Berry mounded in my glass all the way to the rim, because I loved it most. I triangled all three glasses in my hands and wobbled back up the ladder.

  “Your breakfast.” I gave them each a blue-ish glass.

  “What is this stuff?” Merry closed one eye and stared at it with a doubtful expression.

  “It’s Boo-Berry, my favorite cereal in the whole world.”

  Mister Jim tipped the glass into his mouth. “Yeah. I love the ghost, too. My one weakness in life is a kiddie cereal.”

  Merry rolled his eyes. “I’m sure that’s not true.”

  “All the same, don’t tell anybody.”

  Merry dumped his glass into the river. “I can’t believe you two would rather eat this sugary slop over a fresh piece of fish.”

  “It’s good.” Mister Jim and I said it together.

  “My tongue is already turning blue. See?” I stuck out my tongue and crossed my eyes trying to see if it really was, but I couldn’t tell.

  “Jim, maybe we can get her to try some just-caught fish for dinner.”

  Cereal crunched in Mister Jim’s mouth. “Poles are in that compartment, if you want to get started.”

  Merry looked back and forth over the top of the water. He started to reach for the place Mister Jim showed him, but instead he walked up to me. His tone was weird. “Um. Emmaline?”

  “Uh-huh?” I crunched through my reply.

  “We’re going to find your daddy. You don’t have to worry, all right?”

  My eyes got all swimmy again, and I looked away to keep them from seeing. Since Daddy, I’d never met men who were so nice to me. At least, not without wanting to watch me serve them tea with my dress unbuttoned.

  Another sound rippled across the water. A boat. It was going slow, like it was looking for something.

  For me.

  It was looking for me. It had to be. It turned and puttered our way. My glass crashed to the floor, splattering blue milk all over my legs.

  “Get down below. Both of you.” Mister Jim took a fishing rod from Merry and shooed us down the ladder. “You hide down there and don’t come back ’til I say.”

  Sugar stuck my legs together when I snuggled up next to Merry on one of the beds. Merry hugged me to his side. I tried not to breathe loud, but my heart hurt my ribs from beating so fast. “I’m scared, Merry. Why would the Judge come this far?”

  “This may have nothing to do with him. Just be still and stay quiet.”

  “But how did you know him? The Judge said he knew you, but—”

  “Ssh. Not now.”

  A motor powered up beside us, and a smoky voice called out a greeting to Mister Jim. I listened as best I could over the splashing of water as our boat rocked from side to side.

  “You all alone?”

  Mister Jim grunted. “Yep. Don’t like company when I fish.”

  “That’s an awful big boat for one person.”

  “I like space. Obviously.”

  “Uh-huh. Well, you seen any other boats out today? Coming from New Orleans way?”

  Mister Jim paused, and I held my breath. I counted ten bounces on waves before he spoke again. “A few. Natural on one of the busiest rivers in the country.”

  “Specifically, I’m looking for one with special cargo. A man and a little girl. Blonde. Almost ten. Wearing a blue dress.”

  Mister Jim splashed the rod into the water. It clinked along the side of the boat. It sounded like someone was knocking underwater. I held my breath and waited for Mister Jim’s answer, but everything was lapping waves and birdsong. I squirmed against Merry, but he held me next to him and wouldn’t let me move. I almost cheered when I heard Mister Jim’s voice again.

  “Like I said. Don’t like company when I fish.”

  “So, you haven’t seen anyone of that description?”

  “Only seen you. All morning.”

  A shadow passed our grimy window, and I squirmed on the bed, trying to get free of Merry and close the curtain. He grabbed the hem of my t-shirt and held me close, and I buried my face in his chest to keep from seeing the man’s eyes. His shadow rose and fell outside, right in front of the window. Blue and white and black pants. Any second, that man was going to shout that he saw us and come on board and take me away from Merry. Force me back to New Orleans and the sounds of my mother’s house.

  Make me be with the Judge forever.

  SEVENTEEN

  Wednesday. October 5, 1977. Somewhere along the Mississippi River, above New Orleans, Louisiana.

  I held Emmaline next to me. Completely still. The man’s cold eyes grazed over the dirt and spray on the window before he stood up and floated on. Thanked Jim for the chat and offered him a telephone number on a card.

  Jim took it.

  The boat creaked, and I imagined Jim leaning over the side, considering the number. Water dripped in the sink. I counted to twenty before Jim spoke again.

  “This little girl. She in trouble?”

  “She ran away from home, Sir, and her mother is desperate to locate her.”

  Emmaline squirmed beside me. As soon as she opened her mouth, I clamped my hand over it. Put a finger over my lips. Her cornflower eyes were etched with fear.

  Still, Jim didn’t betray us.

  The boat motor sputtered, and the boat rocked in its wake as it motored away. Its hum faded, but I kept Em glued next to me until I couldn’t hear it anymore. Steps sounded on the ladder, and Jim ducked through the doorway.

  “All right. What have y’all gone and done?”

  Emmaline bounced out of my arms and was in front of Jim before I could get a word ou
t. “He was lying, Mister Jim. It’s the Judge who wants me, not my mother!”

  Jim crossed his arms over his burly chest. “Most mammas I know would miss their little girls if they ran away from home. If you’ve gotten me involved in something messy—”

  “Mister Jim, I promise, cross-my-heart-and-hope-to-die. My mother only loved what I could do for her. She never loved me, not like Daddy did. That’s why I’ve got to find him.”

  Jim cut his eyes at me. “She always this persistent?”

  “Yep. Always.”

  I stood up, my mind spinning with alternate plans for escape, while she rocked her head back and forth between us. “What’s ‘persistent’?”

  “I think it’s the definition of your name, Em.”

  Jim smiled a little, but his chin was still rigid, his arms stiff. It never made it to his eyes. “Come on back up. Got a fish on the line during all that.” He stomped up the ladder, sweat glistening on the muscles of his back.

  I trotted back into morning. Em wrinkled her nose and followed.

  Able hands that kill. They’re good things to have. Would I have to use them if Jim turned on us?

  I watched him from the corner of my eye. Staccato movements laced with anger, or maybe doubt. I didn’t know how to reassure him. It was easier to focus on fishing. Something I knew how to do. I was always better with animals. People were tricky.

  It took me five minutes of casting to snare a catfish. I looked into its eyes before I thwacked the whiskered head along the side of the boat. When I skinned it, I freed two long strips of white meat, still wiggling.

  Em took one look and screeched like an Injun. Practically fell down into the hold and slammed a door. Her muffled protests wafted up the ladder, but when I went down, her door was locked, and she was quiet.

  Just to spite her, I fried up our meal on the electric ring in the galley. Not the same as a campfire. Nothing tasted better than when it was seared with flame. I remembered the sizzle of trout and fire under the infinite Montana sky. Somebody strummed a guitar, and we dug into that tender meat. It tasted clean. One of our last good meals before winter made everything scarce.

  I still missed Clark sometimes. Still wondered about the rest of them.

  I rubbed my face with one hand to dispel ghosts. Maybe we’d have a campfire tomorrow. Or the next day.

  I fanned the smell toward Em’s closed door and chanted smells so good. With my ear against it, I couldn’t hear a sound. I left her alone and went above deck with two plates. We watched the sun move behind scattered clouds. It would be hours until dark, until we could move again.

  “We in pretty good shape here, I think.” Jim licked fish from his fingers.

  “Jim, I’m really sorry we dragged you into this whole thing.”

  “Merry—your name really is Merry, right?”

  “It’s my nickname, yes. Only name I use these days.”

  “Well, Merry. I don’t do anything I don’t want to do. Only wish you’d been straight up with me.”

  “I know this makes me look bad, but I swear, the people after Em are dangerous. They tried to shoot me, and Lord knows what they would do to her. I should’ve explained it all at the beginning, but, with you threatening to call the police and all, there really wasn’t time.”

  He chewed. Avoided my eyes. “Nothing for it now but to get you two to Natchez.”

  My lips were a gloss of salty cornmeal and grease. I savored the sweet flavor of the fish on my tongue and studied a craft passing slow on the river. It moved along upstream but didn’t pause. I watched until it slipped around a bend.

  “I know just where to drop you in Natchez. You can get to town easy.” Jim leaned back on his elbows and studied the sky. His chocolate face was smooth, but age was tricky with some people. Like me.

  I wondered how he knew the Mississippi so well. Was it a recent thing, his world of water? Or, had he been running it his whole life?

  Turns out, it was the latter. As a boy, Jim built rafts out of sticks, lashed together with twine, he said. A craft I understood. My fingers itched to pull into some cove, to build with him. Later on, his knowledge of the shoals of the river landed him a job with a shipping company. He worked the river from Memphis to the delta. Started his own business and sold it several years before. The muscles in his chest expanded when he talked about living the American Dream. I thought I was the explorer, the personification of the American Dream. Compared to him, my story had to be secondary. A fragment. I couldn’t believe anybody would care about it anymore.

  He finished his biography. Shifted his weight on his elbows and looked at me. “So, you got one?”

  “What?”

  “A story?”

  It wasn’t that I didn’t have a story. I had quite a life before Nowhere. A fine life, until it unraveled at the end. The trick with stories was how to seed them with flecks of truth without revealing anything. Knowing which bits to tell, what parts to conceal. I cleared my throat. My story was boring. The military. Some aimless wandering out West. Desk job in St. Louis for a while. Not nearly as interesting as his.

  Or, maybe I projected how I knew history must see me.

  Jim’s eyes bored through me. Plumbed the depths of a life lived deeper than I let on.

  I tipped my head back and studied the sky to avoid his stare. “It’s going to be a long night. Mind if I take a nap?”

  “I was thinking of taking one myself.”

  We left the boat anchored and stretched our limbs along the warm deck, and I covered my face with my hat. Some sleep would do us both good.

  It was a creak that woke me. The boat moved in a gentle rhythm. Not fast. I blinked to clear the sleep from my eyes, because I couldn’t see the shoreline, or even the front of the boat. When I was fully awake, I realized it wasn’t bleary eyes. The sky was a white-out, a breath that ducked and swirled. An eerie light penetrated through the mist here and there.

  Fog, smoky and rolling.

  I felt along the side and stuck my head into the hold. Emmaline’s door was still closed. Dinner dishes were strung around the kitchen where I’d left them. In the cockpit, I checked the time on the console. 6:22 PM. That much dead sleep would have to be enough.

  I groped along the side of the boat, bumping into Jim on the way. The fog swirled over his skin, turning it lighter. He rubbed the nap from his eyes and blinked at me. Stirred. His muscles crippled with sleep.

  When I leaned over to look at the river, fog was all I could see.

  “Merry? Where are you?” Emmaline’s hoarse voice drifted from the cockpit doorway. Her outline materialized when I approached.

  “I’m right here, Em.”

  “I can’t see anything.”

  Jim got up and lumbered to the controls, while I went over to Em and put an arm around her slight shoulders. She rested her tangled head on my waist. Her voice was raspy with exhaustion. “Did you eat all the fish?”

  I had to smile, in spite of our circumstances. “Naw. I left you a little piece.”

  “Where?”

  “In the cooler. Go on down and get it out, and I’ll heat it up for you.”

  She put one dainty foot backwards on the top rung of the ladder and almost fell when a horn blasted through the shroud of air. Close. The approaching roar of multiple engines crescendoed along the surface of the water.

  Em teetered, and I pulled her off the ladder and set her on the deck beside me. Her thin arms went around my waist, and her eyes were wide awake when she looked at me. She settled into me, and I accepted her weight. Like I imagined a father cared for his daughter. I’d never know. But I tried.

  I slammed into the cockpit and studied the bank of instruments, alien things to a man like me. I knew how to use the sun and stars. New-fangled technology whipped me. Jim worked a knob with sausage fingers, and I watched him, helpless.

 
“Any of those things tell them we’re here?”

  “The radio, but it’s a crapshoot to divine which frequency.”

  A horn sounded again, the strength of it vibrating our wooden deck.

  “Can they see us, Merry?” Emmaline stood next to me. I never felt her slip her hand in mine, but I gripped it anyway. Empty reassurance: it was better than nothing from a leader, especially if it was swathed in a dose of honesty. My best, my only, answer.

  Shouting wouldn’t work—no one would hear us over the drone of engines and parting water. Sounds trapped in a blanket of white that played tricks on me.

  “Get below, Em. Jim, you got any kind of raft or life jackets? Something that will keep us afloat if we get hit?”

  “Yep. Someplace in back. Go have a look, Emmaline.”

  At least four separate engines rumbled through the mist, right on top of us. The wheel of our craft throbbed in Jim’s hands. Tobacco smoke and engine oil drifted through the air. Somebody shouted, and laughter answered, almost close enough to make out conversation. Individual voices.

  Emmaline tugged at my sleeve. “Nothing below, except this.” She held a blown-up ring, pink on one side and clear on the other.

  I looked at Jim. “Seriously? That’s all you have? No life jackets?”

  Jim shook his hairless head.

  A child’s doughnut wouldn’t save us if we got hit. If the boat sank, we’d never be able to share that flimsy thing and float long enough to find the shore. I imagined the three of us, snared on a tree branch, clinging to a toy. What a ridiculous sight we would be to whoever found us.

  If anyone found us.

  The boat lurched. Violent. Em grabbed onto me, while I wrapped one arm around the console and sunk to the floor. Jim kept to the wheel, his big hands fighting through the commotion. I locked my arm around Emmaline, just as the boat rolled sideways. We hung there, frozen above the river. Waiting for impact. Jim bent his knees into the waves, and I slid along the flooring and rammed into the side, my beat-up body between it and Emmaline.

  Our craft righted itself and surfed the barge’s wake, tossing us around the floor. With another intense shift, I lost my grip and was sucked over the side. My feet toyed with the river, and I bit my tongue and gripped the railing. The barge drowned Em’s scream.