“You saw him fall? All the way to the ground?” I blinked. By the time he hit the ground, he should have been gone. That was how Nowhere worked: Death erased our previous experiences. Took us back to a no-count bar to begin again.
My eyes wandered across the grass, next to the broken shaft of tombstone. I rocked to my feet, taking Em with me. My eyes raked the clearing. Starlight played tricks on me. Faint shadows. Shifting shapes. The lingering stink of tobacco.
“Run, Em! Now!”
I set her down and grabbed her hand to make her keep pace with me. We sprinted back toward Leslie’s cabin, our feet drums on the moldering soil in the blind night. My side throbbed with the effort to stay upright, to keep Emmaline with me.
When we jumped over a log, Em’s fingers slipped from mine. A dull thump hit the dirt, and she cried out in pain.
I turned and picked my way through the blackness. Even the crickets were silent, watching for what might happen when Wilkinson burst from the woods, gun blazing. I gave an involuntary shudder and followed the sound of her breathing. A rhythm mixed with something else.
The rattle of branches. The crunch of leaves. The haunting stench of cigar.
My toe collided with a log. I groped along the other side and found Em. I picked her up and latched her to my side. “Wrap your legs around me, and hang on.”
I darted through the forest with her burrowed into me. We followed the scent of the trail left by untold others. In less than a minute, we stumbled into another clearing. Light burned in the window of Leslie’s cabin.
A flimsy lock on a door would not stop Wilkinson. He could blast through it with the gun I left behind. Burn us into the open. I had one choice: to get us away from Leslie’s. Fast. With a drowning heart, I knew the only way.
Leslie’s rig.
I ran to it and hauled open the driver-side door. Emmaline slipped inside ahead of me, scrambling along the seat. “I thought you couldn’t drive.”
“I can’t.”
I slammed the door and ran my hands over every foreign thing. Knobs. Wheels. Buttons. Levers. The cold sliver of key. I turned it in the ignition, and the truck rumbled to life.
“Hold on, Em.”
I ground the truck into gear. The window cracked on my side, and we jerked to a stop. A single hairline fracture spider webbed over the surface of the glass.
Did I slam the door too hard and break the window?
Distracted, I turned my attention back to the dashboard. The engine growled, low and powerful, and I settled my foot on the gas. Eased the clutch. I’d watched other people drive. I knew I could do it if I tried.
Em gripped the dashboard. “You have to turn on the lights, Merry.”
I nodded and flicked the switch for the headlights. Emmaline screamed. The front of the truck lit up with the bloody face of Wilkinson. One hand clutched his ribs. In the other, a gun pointed at my side of the windshield.
I tugged at the gear shaft and floored it.
We braced ourselves as the truck darted forward. Wilkinson rolled out of the range of my headlights. I battled the gears and fought to keep the truck in the middle of the driveway, away from the trees. A crack breached Emmaline’s window, and she jumped in the back before it shattered in toothy pieces, raining all over her seat.
I pushed the pedal all the way to the floor, and the rig shot forward, its force jarring my teeth. White-knuckled, I gripped the wobbly steering wheel and squinted into the distance.
A sign. The brakes squealed, and I used both feet to muscle the behemoth to a stop.
Nashville, it read, with an arrow pointing left.
FIFTY-TWO
Wednesday, October 12, 1977. Somewhere south of Nashville, Tennessee.
“The whole goddamn thing is out of control! Hang on, Em!” I grappled with a grinding wheel while Em crashed around the space behind me. The truck slid off the road and down the bank. I quit steering and braced my arms in front of Emmaline to soften the impact. We whiplashed forward, into the heft of the dashboard. Em’s body crunched into mine, but I held us inside the rig. We plowed to a stop in a ditch as the sun rose noon high.
Dust swirled in the mirrors, down the sides of the truck. My journal fluttered open to a page with one salvaged word: hope. The creamy paper winked at me. A tease? Or a promise? I didn’t know.
I turned my attention to Emmaline. She ground her teeth and gripped her arm, but her eyes were dry. Determined. “You okay? Tell me what hurts, Em. Let me see.”
“Just my elbow, but I’m all right.”
“Let me take a look at it anyway.”
“Really, Merry. It’s got to be all right. Daddy is waiting for me in Nashville today. Nothing is going to stop me from getting there, if I have to walk from here all by myself.”
I took her arm and felt along the curve of bone, pressing in different spots. “Does that hurt?”
“Ow! Stop it.” She yanked her arm away and dove for the key. “How do we restart the truck?”
“Em, I don’t know if we can restart it. And, even if I can get it cranked, I know enough about trucks to realize I shouldn’t drive this rig.”
“You haven’t even checked to see what’s wrong, Merry.” Her liquid eyes pleaded with me, her voice almost a prayer. “Daddy could be waiting for me right now. Please, you have to get me there.”
I threw open the door and took in the lone stretch of highway. We couldn’t be more exposed if we were buck-naked. After wandering lost in the labyrinth of Tennessee back roads for most of the night, I finally found a straight shot to Nashville around mid-morning. And, I thought navigating this place on horseback was bewildering….
A white car came up over the rise from the direction of Mississippi, and I froze. Every policeman in the state of Tennessee was likely looking for me. When the car got closer, it slowed to check our situation, but I waved it on and gave them a thumbs-up sign. Hitching a ride was not something I was ready to do.
Not yet.
I took a slow turn around the truck, checking one wheel at a time, hoping I’d be able to figure out what went wrong, but every inch of that blasted machine baffled me. I knew how to take a bunch of animal skins and craft a boat that would float, but Nowhere did not allow me the time to master the mysteries of the mechanical. Whatever I learned on other assignments, experience was no aid without memory.
Helpless, I examined the truck, every rod and bolt and seam that ran along its skin. I heaved open the hood to check the engine, but all the hoses and wires and containers undid me. If the problem lurked there, I would never resolve it.
When I looked in the cab, Em was passed out, her arms flung up over her head and her hair haloing her face. I watched her breathe and marveled at her faith in me. Would she ever forgive me for my uselessness, for keeping her from finding her father?
Under the seat, I found a smashed candy bar. Its wrapper fell apart in my hands, and I chewed on chocolate and caramel. If I couldn’t get us to Nashville today, I would vanish. I was sure of it. Em would be left to find her way alone. It was the only possible outcome. With renewed energy, I jumped out of the cab and pressed on.
It was close to two in the afternoon by the time I crawled under the truck, shirtless and sweating. And swearing. The front passenger tire wasn’t buried in the mud. It was flat.
I beat the ground with my fist, causing a storm of bugs that flew up my nostrils and made me cough. I shimmied out into the sunshine, rubbed my dirty face and strategized. It was too dangerous to rustle up some help on the CB. Besides, I didn’t know the proper lingo.
I stuck my head back in the cab and whistled to rouse Em. Her sleepy head popped around the corner of the driver’s seat. “We blew out a tire. We can’t make it to Nashville on a blown tire.”
“You have to change it, Merry. That’s what happens when a tire goes flat. You put on a new one and go on with your trip.�
� She pulled herself through the opening between the seats, her face comprehending the possible extent of my impending failure. “Do you know how to change a tire?”
Heroes. They outshine others in the firmament of heaven, but they sizzle brightest when they fall.
I stood straighter, trying to muster a posture of confidence. “How hard can it be?” I rooted around behind the seat and found a slender kit labeled “Tires,” lettered in a strong, feminine hand. “I’ve figured out tougher things.”
“I thought all men knew how to change tires. You’re really weird, Merry.”
“I’m just different, Em. Always have been.”
“But it’s more than that. I don’t understand what the Judge meant. Why did he keep talking about Nowhere last night? And he said you were dead.”
“Goes to show what he knows. I’m not dead. Clearly.”
I ignored her deflated kicks against the dash and heaved the box into the sunshine. It rattled when I threw it on the ground. I opened the lid and set to sorting long steel bars and a thing that fit around something that was supposed to do with tires.
Em’s voice distracted me. “But he kept calling you Meriwether Lewis. That was the name on the big statue, too. I know all about who he was in history. His trip to the Pacific with Clark was one of my very favorite parts. He’s one of my heroes.”
I swallowed a Really? Americans learned about me? In school? I was painted as a hero?
For so long, I wanted to be remembered. Celebrated for my scientific discoveries through exploration. Recognized widely for the contributions I made. I chose Nowhere to make that happen. I guess I never thought it could happen on its own.
I tried to let the knowledge of my fame seep into my cracks. Make me whole. Complete. But when I stood at the other end of Emmaline’s gaze, all that mattered was her.
I sighed. Kept the conversation on course. “People have the same names, Em. Happens all the time.”
“I bet nobody is named Meriwether today. Nobody.”
“I told you. My name is Merry.”
“Well, I still don’t get it.”
“That’s life, Em. A parade of events we don’t understand. It’s how we deal with our bewilderment that separates us from everyone else.”
Before she could ask another question, I shifted my back to her. Checked the container again. Where was the contraption that lifted the truck off the ground? There had to be one, because even I knew a tire couldn’t be removed with the weight of the truck bearing down on it. I rummaged around in the cab, a sheen of desperation building underneath my armpits, crawling up my back.
I knew how to motivate a team of men to push a boat upriver. I understood how to read the pattern of the sky. Hell, I could even identify most critters by sound alone. Yet, in my current conundrum, I was lost. Was it possible for one man to change a tire on a big rig? The way it handled, I was surprised a lone man could drive one. I thought of Leslie, even more agog that our wheels had belonged to a woman.
When I peeled my hands away from my face, another vehicle broke the southern horizon. It moved like a race car, low to the ground. A driver with a purpose.
I stuck my head inside the cab. Told Em to hide.
She scrambled over the seat while I took a defensive position behind the open door, watching the silver sports car screech to a stop. Tinted windows blocked out prying eyes. I gripped a metal rod from the tool kit and waited.
The passenger window scrolled down, and I met a pair of black sunglasses molded into the incredulous face of a man. When he moved a lever between the seats and leaned over the leather armrest, I was run over by a sense of the familiar.
Had I met the man before?
Before I could place him, he frowned. “What the hell happened to you?”
“Got a flat tire.” I was proud of myself for waving the rod in my hand, showing him I knew something about tires. “Thanks for stopping, but we’ve got things under control. I’m working to change the tire, see?”
He left the car running and stormed into the open air. “Control? Seriously, Son. I don’t even think the messiah himself could change a tire on this rig. Have you tried to lift one of these fuckers?”
My mouth was open, but I couldn’t find my voice. A detail that didn’t matter, as it turned out.
“Didn’t think so. You got to get one of them services out here. You know, one of them trucker tire-changing outfits. They come and do the whole mess for you, while you sit over there, sipping booze in broad daylight, if you planned for contingencies. From the looks of your sorry ass, I’d say you reserve planning for your encounters with other girly-men.”
One of the most famous explorers of the early nineteenth century? Effeminate? I balled up my empty fist and prepared to educate him on that score, but he strutted around the front of the truck and bent over the desecrated tire. “Goddamn. Do you even know how to drive, Son? I never seen such carnage to rubber and steel in all my life.”
Emmaline stuck her head out of the passenger door. The man’s avian face softened at the sight of her. With a flounce, she tossed her head. “He can’t drive. He told me.”
“And, who might you be, young lady?” He took a step toward her, his face colored with interest.
“She’s none of your business.” I stepped around the cab and put myself between them. I couldn’t shake the feeling that I needed to keep him away from her. With one arm, I shoved Emmaline back into the truck and shut the door with my elbow before turning to face the stranger. “I need to change the tire.”
“I already told you that, Son. What are you? Slow?”
“Actually, I thought you might help me.”
The man eyed his suit of black wool. His indigo silk tie. His spit-shined shoes. He unleashed his small man fury on me. “You are a goddamn idiot. That’s what you are.” His busy hands windmilled everywhere. “You see this suit? Custom. Couture, they call it. I had it made in Italy. I bet you’re so stupid you don’t even know where that is. But, I’ll tell you one thing right now: I’m not crawling around on the goddamn ground in this get-up.”
Another vehicle approached from the south, drowning his spirited soliloquy. A rattletrap of a red ruck. I pulled the man behind the door with me and watched the clunker chug by. Its windows were too grimy to see inside, but it did not slow as it passed. It motored across the opposite horizon, out of sight. When it was gone, I was still holding the man’s tie. “If you can’t help me change the tire, you have to get us out of here. Now.”
His expression didn’t flinch. “Where are you and the girl headed?”
Emmaline jumped out of the cab and landed two-footed on the ground beside him. “We’re going to Nashville, to—”
I pulled her to my side. “Yes. We’re going to Nashville.”
“Well, goddamn. What’s your business there, Son?”
“We’re meeting some family. Reunion.”
“Huh. Nashville. That’s where I’m going. Where I live, as a matter of fact. Been there the whole of my life. I’d say if you’re going to a family reunion, we might be related, but I couldn’t possibly share bloodlines with the likes of you. Her maybe, but definitely not you.”
I ran one hand over my face to keep from hitting him. “So you’ll take us?”
The man’s head scoped between us. “What’s the address?”
I swallowed. “Address?”
“Goddamn, Son. You really are stupid, aren’t you? The a-d-d-r-e-s-s. You know, the street number assigned to the place where you’re going to your no-count, inbred family reunion.”
“Look, I’m not sure of the address. Just take us to wherever the Natchez Trace ends in Nashville, and we’ll find our way from there.”
“The end of the goddamn Trace? Why do you want to go there for?”
“It’s as good a place as any.”
“I reckon so, if you li
ke a lot of nothing, and you sure as hell won’t find another ride. Not much there these days, except industrial wasteland and the Cumberland River.”
I shot Em a warning look. “Just take us somewhere in that general vicinity.”
Before I could stop her, she bowed in front of the stranger. “Thank you for giving us a ride, Mister. I’ll never, ever forget it.”
His skepticism evaporated, and his cheeks flushed underneath the dark lenses. “Well, now. I, uh...it’ll be a tight fit. Car’s a two-seater. I got a crawl space behind the front seats, if you can wedge back there. Let me go and clean it out.”
He walked around the front of the truck while I put my face close to Em’s and whispered. “You cannot tell that man about Nashville, Em. About what we’re doing. You especially can’t tell him about your daddy.”
“Merry, trust me. Sometimes, it takes a woman to get a job done. Plus, he seems nice.”
“Nice? Don’t you hear the names he calls me with that sewer of a mouth?”
“You said ‘goddamn’ when you were wrecking the truck.”
“Most people swear when they’re stressed, Em, but they don’t make it a syllable-by-syllable part of normal conversation.”
“What does that mean?”
“Never mind. Just don’t say anything, and I mean anything, else. No matter what he says to you. You sit in the back of that car, and you keep your mouth shut.”
“But, Daddy—”
“We’ll find your daddy. You just let him get us to Nashville, and leave finding your daddy to me.”
The man stood at the nose of the rig, watching. I didn’t know how long he’d been there, whether he heard our conversation. He cleared his throat and smiled. “If I’m gonna take you to town, you can at least tell me your names.”
I stood tall and kept one hand on Em’s shoulder. “I’m Merry. This here’s Em.”
“Uh-huh. A girly name for you, and a boy name for her. It fits.”
Emmaline curtsied in front of him, and I clenched my jaw. A curtsey? In 1977? She kept her head low. “And what might your name be, Mister?”
To Live Forever: An Afterlife Journey of Meriwether Lewis Page 23