by Peter Troy
The doctor poured some water into the glass on the table beside you and asked, “So what’s the pretty little one going to have for a name?”
Whenever Ethan had brought it up, you told him it made you more nervous to think of such things before the child was born. But you knew all along, almost from the very start. You looked at Da and thought to yourself, Maybe next time it’ll be a boy and you’ll get your tribute, but I’m so glad she’s a girl. Then you brushed your finger across her forehead and looked over at Ethan for just a second, then back up at the nurse.
“Her name is Aislinn.”
And then there was only to bask in their joy … this adoptive family of yours.
MICAH
COOPERSTOWN, NEW YORK
OCTOBER 15, 1864
When Micah was just seven or maybe eight years old at most, his Daddy explained how a plank of good wood was a strong thing of itself. Might be a very strong thing, if it was made of good enough wood. But it’d only hold so much pressure by itself. And he took a good plank and set it on two rocks and told his son to walk out onto the middle of it. Made him feel the thing bend under just his weight. Then started walkin’ out on it himself. And made Micah feel it all the more. ’Til he thought it’d break and jumped off.
Then his Daddy took another rock and set it under that plank somewhere near the middle. Told him to come out on it again. Started jumpin’ up and down on it when he wouldn’t come. Showing how much stronger it got just by that one rock. ’Til Micah walked out on it. Jumped on it too after a while. And from then on he understood what it meant when his Daddy talked about how levees and houses and roofs and things got stronger by the fixin’ together of them.
Somehow that memory comes to him now, to see Ethan walking along the roof of that porch the two of them built. Thinking back to when he wouldn’t set a single foot upon it. Sayin’ it was his leg that made him worry. When Micah knew different. A man who’d walked into gunfire plennya times. Wouldn’t step on a roof. ’Til Micah showed him what his Daddy proved to him all those years ago.
And now there he is, walking along it like it’s just the regular ground beneath his feet. And he’s pouring that hot tar up along the seam against the house just like Micah showed him. Which means Micah gets to stand on actual ground, keeping the fire going under the tar pot. Then walk up the ladder instead of Ethan. Since it’s faster this way, with his leg to get in the way. And Ethan thinks what he’s doin’ is more important than keeping this tar going just the right way. Which ain’t so, but who needs to know.
Olivia and Marcella are there on the porch. With little Aislinn tucked away inside, napping. And Micah’s busy keeping that tar just hot enough, hearing the two of them talking but pretending not to hear. These two women who never talk about the usual women’s sorta things. Instead it’s always about what the Congress down in Washington is doing. Or how the war is going, only then in quieter voices when Ethan is around, so as not to remind him of all that’s been lost.
But lately, these last two weeks, when Micah and Ethan have been sealing up every seam in the place with that tar, Marcella and Olivia have been talking about nothing but suffrage. Sounded like a terrible way to describe something that was supposed to be so good. But women like Marcella and Olivia, and their Mrs. Carlisle and Catherine down in New York, are all working for suffrage. The Movement, they call it. For women and Negroes. And Micah couldn’t help but think how most of the colored folks he knew would settle for a whole lot less than that.
This particular afternoon Olivia gets to talking about Mrs. Tubman again. Harriet, she calls her. Since she’s had her at the house twice, back before the war started. And met her half a dozen times at least, outside of that. They even send letters back and forth still, though Mrs. Tubman’s, Harriet’s, only come every six months or so. But she’ll be a great supporter of the suffrage movement once the war is done. And stirring that tar and keeping the fire hot, not a bit of all this is lost on Micah. He keeps thinking how these two women, and this man on the roof with only one leg of much use, have done more for the cause of making his people free than he’d ever done. ’Cept when it came to liberatin’ himself. That he’d done just fine.
’Til he hears Marcella’s voice get that sort of excitement to it, the way it does when Olivia talks about Harriet. With Olivia tellin’ about how Harriet spent the first two years of the war down along the islands of South Carolina. How she led a couple hundred slaves to the freedom of the islands where the Union Navy was stationed. Went up the Edisto River and rescued them damn near herself. With the help of a couple of Union boats tryin’ to stir things up down there.
Olivia and Marcella start getting back onto how Harriet is just the sorta woman who can help folks see that this new suffrage movement is all connected to the abolition movement. But Micah starts getting some ideas that got nothing to do with suffrage. And he lets that fire cool some, while he’s thinking about what Olivia just said. First time he’s ever heard her talk about such places. Edisto Island. Port Royal. Charleston. All of ’em places he’d heard plenty of talk about back home. Back at Les Roseraies.
And it’s enough to make the tar in that pot grow hard, before he notices Ethan looking down at him from the roof. Looking down at him leaning up along the wall at the edge of the porch. Listening, too. And watching Micah. And a smile in that mischievous sorta way. Like he’s maybe. Just maybe. Thinking the very same thing.
MICAH
NEW YORK
DECEMBER 1864
So Micah, there’s a merchant ship leavin’ in a week that’ll get ya there, Seanny says. But I don’t know th’Captain personally, only through a friend of a sorta friend. But if ya can hang on for a while longer, there’s a supply steamer headin’ outta th’Brooklyn yards on the twenny-first that’s captained by a personal friend of mine. A fella rose up from th’Points … with a bitta help.
He nods his head to Ethan like he knows the man he’s talking about. And Ethan nods back.
Cormac’s brother? Ethan asks.
Yep, Seanny says. And Cormac’s goin’ along for th’ride.
Ethan seems relieved to hear that. Though Micah’s wary of trusting anyone outside of Ethan and, maybe, Sean.
Micah, Cormac’s a man I’d trust to watch out for my own daughter, sober or otherwise. Ethan says.
With Cormac it’ll most likely be the otherwise parta that, Seanny adds, laughing a little by himself. But you don’t strike me as a man needin’ any lookin’ after, Micah.
And that’s enough for him.
He’s spent the past two months waiting for the telegram from Seanny. Started feeling like maybe he’d be better off just going on his own, but Ethan convinced him to wait. ’Til the day finally arrived. Olivia and her oldest boy stayed with Marcella and the baby at the house back in Cooperstown so Ethan could come down and see Micah off. And it’s been a long two days with the goodbyes leading up to it. From folks he knows understand that he might not be coming back.
’Til at last it’s just Micah and Ethan and Seanny, standing there alongside the supply ship headed for Port Royal Island. Seanny says his usual sorts of things, bitter kinda wit about how it’s not too late to change his mind. Not as tiresome to Micah when he thinks how he’ll be forever indebted to him. Then it’s just Ethan, with a stern face unusual for him, as he reaches inside the satchel and takes out a leather billfold. Hands it to Micah. But Micah hands it right back without even looking inside.
No … Ethan, I’ve got plenty—
Now hold on. Ethan says, not insistent but asking for him to understand.
Ethan shakes his head a few times. And Micah waits for him to explain. Figures he’s earned at least that much.
You an’ I know a thing or two about tryin’ to get right … about tryin’ … to make things right. With God … with whoever. Ethan says. An’ sometimes when things’re all just this kinda mess … sometimes it’s nice just to be able to start to make some of it right.
And Ethan’s got some mist
in his eyes Micah’s never seen there before.
Ethan, I got enough—
No you don’t Micah. You know this isn’t gonna be th’sorta thing where men do what’s right just ’cause it’s right, Ethan says. Yer gonna have to pay fer everything, and pay more than I’d havta. You know that. Not too many men left anywhere with more than a specka common decency. Not in all this mess.
Then he places the billfold into Micah’s hands. Closes his fist around it.
That’s fifteen hundred dollars there from the Ladies Abolition Society of New York, he says, as if making an announcement. They’re good people, tryin’ to make some of this god-awful mess right, somehow. And you’re helpin’ them do it.
And Micah smiles just a little at him. Takes the billfold and stuffs it inside his coat. And knows that it’s his turn. To fix whatever he can.
Then Ethan reaches inside his satchel and takes out something else. A battered, leather-bound book, held together by a bit of string tied around it. Micah takes it and looks at its cover, unable to see anything like a title engraved on it anymore. Still, he holds it with two hands like it’s a thousand-year-old Bible. Suspecting. ’Til Ethan tells him to turn the cover open, and it’s confirmed.
The Odyssey, Micah says, reverently. Out loud. I can’t take this with me, Ethan. He protests again. I don’t know if I’ll ever be able to return it.
But Ethan only responds with a signal to flip one more page. And Micah does, reading the inscription aloud:
This book passes now through the grateful hands of:
Aislinn McOwen & Ethan McOwen
& Micah Plowshare
(though the stories contained within belong to the ages)
Ethan, I can’t accept this, Micah says, shaking his head. This is—
Not mine to hold on to anymore, Ethan interrupts. Books aren’t a possessing kinda thing, my sister always said. It was her idea to put that line there at the bottom.
Then this should be Aislinn’s someday, Micah argues.
It already was.
I mean … you know, little Aislinn, Micah says.
Oh, I’ve got another one I think she’ll like a whole lot better, Ethan answers with a smile. And it’s one that her namesake used to especially treasure. But that one there—that’s meant to travel with a man on a grand adventure.
What about your son? What if you and Marcella have a son someday? He asks.
Read the inscription again, Ethan says. It’s yours now. You can pass it on to whoever you want to, but it’s your turn to have it now.
And then, as Micah begins to muster up a final protest, Seanny comes back.
They’re getting ready to head off, he says. And Ethan shrugs his shoulders and smiles a little. Like they’d planned it all along.
MICAH
SOUTH CAROLINA
WINTER 1864–65
Port Royal and the surrounding islands are like little droplets of Union in an ocean of Confederacy. But now there’s word of General Sherman marching all up and down their hindquarters with more than sixty thousand Union soldiers. And how he made it to Savannah a few days before Christmas, fixing to head this way through South Carolina. Mad as hell to get his hands on the place that started this whole damn mess. With nothing in between but a few old men and young boys with their muskets. And Micah listens to all the bits of information he can get, thinking that this will either be a whole lot easier than he thought. Or a whole lot harder. If the fight’s coming this way.
The merchant ship sets back off for New York the day after Christmas. And Micah stays behind. But Sean’s man Cormac introduces him to the Quartermaster Sergeant before he leaves. And then it’s just a matter of five dollars every day Micah wants to sleep in the back of the storehouse. Another five dollars if he’d like to eat. And Sean’s man Cormac just looks at Micah like this is how the world works.
But there is one thing that’s free. On Christmas night, Cormac comes to the storeroom where Micah is alone. Hands him a rifle. Not just any rifle, a Spencer Repeater.
That can fire seven rounds before reloadin’. Cormac says. Sergeant says a man handy wit’ a gun can fire twenny thirty rounds a minute if he’s gotta.
And Micah half-smiles. Asks him what it costs.
Ahh, call it a Christmas present from me an’ Seanny … an’ yer man Squire Ethan.
And he offers Micah a slug from his whiskey bottle, but Micah declines.
Well, shovin’ off in the mornin’, besta luck t’ya, Cormac says, and gives him a slap on the shoulder. Happy Christmas too.
It’s two weeks before Micah’s on his way. Bribes his way onto a little supply boat headed to Edisto Island fifteen miles north. Corporal there, twenty dollars later, tells him about a rowboat. Where it’s hidden. How to get it to the mainland. Where to stash it. Tells him about the place called No Man’s Land.
Where th’Reb inland batteries an’ Union Navy gunboats beat hell outta ever’ now an’ then just to remind everyone we’re still here, he says. Mostly just us doin’ the firin’ now. Just for show, ’cause ain’t anybody there anymore.
And Micah hits the mainland in the late afternoon, stashes the boat. Walks a few miles inland. Figures he’s covered all there is of No Man’s Land, so he stops. Waits for dark. Then he’s on his way again. Ten miles or so along the Edisto River to Penny Creek. Which he reaches by the next morning. Hides himself for most of the day, sleeping some, then it’s back at it when darkness comes. And on to Les Roseraies.
When he gets there, he walks right toward the cabin where he and his Momma and Daddy and Isabelle lived. Got his Spencer Repeater in his hands, loaded. Case whatever overseer they got running the place gets any ideas. But the slave quarters are practically abandoned. Just a tiny puff of smoke coming from their old cabin. It’s gotta be way past midnight, but he knocks anyway. Then a little louder. Then pushes open the door a little.
Whoosat?
He doesn’t recognize the voice.
Who you? Micah says. Cocks the Spencer Repeater to let the man know what’s what.
Thomas. Dis my cabin, Suh. Man says. Suh, Micah thinks. First time he’s been called that. Laughs a little. Laughs more when he starts remembering Thomas. One of his Daddy’s old friends, if he’s the same one.
Micah steps forward a few feet. The fraction of light from what’s left of the fire catches his face. And he can see Thomas, too.
Hello, Thomas, Micah says.
Micah? Man asks, after squinting for a while. And Micah nods, half-smiling. Saving the full-on smiles for Momma and Isabelle. But happy enough to see a friend again.
They sit down once the shaking hands is done. Micah’s got to explain a little bit about how he got here, but asks right off where Momma and Isabelle are. Thomas tells him they’re all right. Better’n most since they both workin’ in the Big House. Isabelle’s a pretty young lady now and works in the kitchen. His Momma does some cleaning and all the taking care of Massa’s Momma. Who ain’t altogetha right inna head, no more. Then it’s the long road of filling in how things’ve been here. How they were for Micah. Backtracking all those years.
Oh, yo’ Daddy be proud as ca’be t’see ya now, son, Thomas says. What a fine strong man you done turned outta be. Mmm-hmm.
And that brings up the point of Daddy. Ain’t likely, but Micah asks if there’s any word on him. Thomas’s face goes cold. Sullen. And it’s like Micah knows somehow. Knows it can’t all be this easy. Thomas shakes his head.
He gone, son, Thomas says. Folks say he jumped ’at train ’long th’Savannah-Charleston line. Th’one takin’ him south wit’ that dealer what bought him up at th’auction. Musta been tryin’ t’get on back here to his fam’ly, what I figger. He jump as they comin’ on the riva crossin’. Kilt him, it did.
And Thomas’s words take the air out of Micah’s lungs. Make him purse his lips tight and shake his head some as he stares at the fire.
Some folks say he done it on purpose-like, Thomas goes on. Knowin’ he wasn’t gon’ see his fam’
ly no mo’, he jus’ couldn’ take it. But that ain’t th’man I knowed for thirty years. Nosuh. He was comin’ back t’find y’all. That’s what it was. Sho’nuff. Don’t you go listnin’ to none a’that.
There’s nothing more said about his Daddy after that. Nothing more said about much anything. And Micah sleeps for only minutes at a time, lying there beside the smoldering fire, a few feet from where he slept as a boy. He knew he wasn’t gonna see his Daddy here. But he didn’t know he was never gonna see him. And what bothers him most is knowing his Daddy ain’t gonna get to see his son a free man after all. And that anger fills him again. Like he wants to take that Spencer and walk up to the Big House right then and start taking out the white folks. Just ’cause. Don’t matter that these particular white folks got nothing to do with his Daddy and him getting sold off. ’Cept that they didn’t buy the place fast enough. Before so many pieces got sold off first.
Next morning Thomas is getting set to go off to work. Only twenny-two slaves left on the place, according to him. What with some getting sold off, some running off. They plant only what they can, corn, sweet taters, beans. Just a fraction of the rice they used to. Micah asks about the indigo field, and Thomas shakes his head.
Summa the fiel’ han’s growed sweet taters there, he says. But it ain’t nothin’ but a patcha overgrowed shrubs now. You an’ yo’ daddy’s work … like it ain’t …
He stops. Well now, he says, nodding his head like he’s trying to convince himself of a thing. Well now, I s’pose it did ’mount to somethin’. You a free man. ’Bout as free as any colored man I ever know’d. Comin’ back here wit’ a fancy rifle like you meanin’ t’do somethin’.
It’s later that afternoon when he sees Isabelle. Thomas gets word to them both, and Isabelle’s the first one that can slip away from the Big House to come an’ see her brother. First time in more’n eleven years. And it’s like Thomas said. She’s grown up into a pretty young thing. Got Daddy’s color. Got Momma’s high cheeks and full nose and eyes. Taller than her, though. Just a few inches shorter than Micah. And they hug. And she cries. And he does all he can not to let himself do the same. Not at all like it was eleven years ago, no snippin’ at each other. None of her getting under his skin, talking all the time. He couldn’t ever feel that way again, he knows.