Into the Free

by Julie Cantrell

  I turn back and look at Diana. The women fill in the space around her. Everyone stares. Silence thickens. There are so many things I want to say, but not now. Not here.

  I turn and walk away. Mrs. Talbot sneers behind me, “Good riddance.”

  When I finally get to the arena, Janine is the only person in sight. She’s standing outside in the empty parking lot looking up at the sky. “Oh, hey, Millie,” she squeaks. “I was just thinking I need to order fireworks for the Fourth of July showcase.” The entire area is unusually quiet. The rodeo sounds are all gone.

  “Where is everyone?” I ask. “Please don’t tell me they’ve already left.”

  “’Bout an hour ago. Headed out early. Bump said it must be on account of me not holding ’em back with all my luggage.” Janine laughs, and then notices the suitcase in my hands. Jack’s old leather one. “Did you change your mind, Millie? You wanna go to Dallas?”

  I don’t say anything. I leave my heavy luggage right there and go in to check on Firefly.

  “Bump took her,” Janine shouts behind me. “Said he needed her as backup. They always bring a couple of extras. Never know what might happen.”

  I can’t believe my luck. Just when I think all the awful things that can possibly happen in my life have happened, it just keeps getting worse. Here I am stuck in an empty rodeo lot with a heavy suitcase jam-packed with every last thing I call mine, and not a single place to go.

  “Why don’t you go meet them?” Janine suggests. “They always stop for lunch. Mr. Tucker won’t put the horses on the stock cars no more. Says it makes them skittish. All that screeching from the tracks. Loud doors sliding shut. He don’t care for it none. He worked out a deal with the tractor folks and rigged up trucks to haul the horses. That means they gotta move slow. They take long breaks to water the stock. Fill up the tanks. He’ll call me when they stop, just to check on things. I’ll tell him to wait for you. If you leave now, they won’t have to wait long. You’ll make much better time than them.”

  I spy my pickup in the lot. I have always kept it at the arena, so as not to embarrass Diana. Bump taught me how to drive it, but I’ve never driven out of town. Just up dusty county roads that turn to mud in the rain. How in the world would I find my way from Iti Taloa to Dallas? “I don’t have a clue as how to get there,” I confess.

  “No problem,” Janine says. “I’ve been there a million times. Once you meet them in Monroe, you won’t have to worry. Or, you could always hitch a train.”

  Not to worry? All my life, I have wanted to leave Iti Taloa. I’ve been hoping to hop a train and get out of this town for as long as I can remember. But I never imagined I’d have to leave all alone. Nothing seems scarier to me now than heading out into the world all by myself. Babushka said I was Krasnaya now. Strong and red. But am I really? I still feel yellow as yellow can be.

  “It’s time, Millie. You can do this,” Janine says. She tries to help me with my suitcase, but the weight nearly topples her to the ground. “What in heaven’s name do you have in this thing?”

  “Everything I own,” I say. You can tell she thinks I’m kidding, but of course, I’m not.

  By the time I hit the highway, my hands are trembling. Every bad ending I can imagine races through my head and, in a way, if I’m really honest with myself, that’s exactly what I hope will happen. That I’ll just drive off and never be seen or heard from again. I roll through the options, playing them out in my head. I could lose control and swerve headfirst into a tree. I could drive a little too close to the edge of the next bridge and tumble into the swampy bottomlands. I could give the wheel a hard jerk, flipping the truck across a farmer’s field.

  These thoughts are scaring me, and I’m shaking. I pull the truck over on the side of the road, trying to get the courage to start the engine again. To keep moving forward. To not take my own life, as my mother did.

  A farm truck is headed my way. The back is filled with hay. It slows, and the driver pokes his head out. “You okay?” he asks.

  “Sloth?” I say. It is Sloth. I have no doubt. It is the same man who taught me to fish and hunt and gather eggs. The same man who has appeared at unexpected times throughout my life. And now I know for sure, he is the same man who caught me when I fell from that tree. A man coming back from the dead to save me? I remember the stained-glass image of the resurrection. Could it be?

  “Ma’am?” the man says. “You need some help?”

  “No, thank you,” I answer, sure I’m speaking to my old friend. I take a risk. “Was it you?” I ask. “Did you catch me when I fell from my tree?”

  “Wasn’t your time to go,” the man says. Then he drives away, and I feel a sudden sense of peace. I look at the bridge in the distance and weigh my options. I close my eyes, and I can hear it. The sweet, sweet sound of the trees. They are singing, “It is spring. It is spring. We will save you. It is spring.”

  I get out of the truck and open Jack’s suitcase. I find Mama’s box of secrets. With the sun at my back, I go through each item individually, remembering the many stories that led me here today. I may never have all the answers to the mysteries in the box, but I’ve got enough for now. Enough to weave together a story of my own.

  I close the box, and for the first time in a long time, I pray. At first, the words won’t come. But then I think of Bump’s father’s prayer, simple and grateful. And Mabel’s prayer in the kitchen, easy and natural, as if she was talking to a friend. I pretend I am a little girl again. I am sitting in Sweetie’s limbs, talking to Sloth. He is digging worms, and I still believe in miracles.

  Dear God, Mama always taught me to believe in You. I’ve tried. But most of my life, I feel like I’ve had to handle things on my own. Without any help from You at all.

  I don’t understand why You’ve let these things happen. Why men like Bill Miller continue to have their way, when people like the Andersons struggle so much.

  I don’t understand why You didn’t save Mama. Why You didn’t change Jack. But Mabel has told me the answers will come. That if I keep believing, it’ll all make sense in the end. I’m trying, Lord. But I need help. I can’t do this alone. I can’t survive this world without You.

  I end my prayer and bring the box back into the cab of the truck. I start the engine. I drive. I drive until I fall into a trance, much like the way I feel when I’m working with Firefly. Strong. Krasnaya. Red.

  I roll down the window and sing every song I remember as I search for the Louisiana line. With each refrain, I work myself away from the pain. I let it all go. Jack. Mama. Bill Miller. One mile at a time. Fear gives way to courage, as I find my own way out of Mississippi.

  Before I know it, I am pulling into a roadside restaurant and fill station. The parking lot is packed with a caravan of pickup trucks rigged to haul the best of Mr. Tucker’s horses. The first person I see is Bump, waving his hat in the air. He runs out to greet me. “Millie! Look, guys! It’s Millie!”

  I feel such relief, I jump out of the truck and throw myself into his arms. And that’s when I feel, for the very first time in my life, truly safe. And happy. And free.

  He pulls his hat down to cover our faces and tries to kiss me. I don’t expect it. I tense up, and he pulls away. I give him a look to say I’m sorry, not knowing if I’ll ever be able to wash away the smell, the feel, the damage Bill Miller left behind. If I’ll ever again be able to like the way it feels to be touched.

  “Two steps forward. One step back,” Bump says.

  I exhale.

  Mr. Tucker and the guys are all excited to see me. But Firefly may be the happiest of all. “I brought your tack, just in case,” Bump smiles. “I had a feeling you’d be coming.”

  Bump has always believed in me. Even when I didn’t believe in myself. Even when I was at my worst, he saw only the best in me, and he was determined for me to see it too. Now I know for certain that Mabel was right. There’s nothing in the world like having someone love you for who you really are. Looking at your heavy baggage
and leaning down to whisper in your ear, “You’re perfect.”

  The guys pile into the fill station for a bite, and I follow. I haven’t had anything to eat in two days besides muffins and lemonade, and the smell of fried chicken makes my stomach growl. Bump notices my hunger and says, “Better get in there before it’s all gone!” I agree and head for the door, but he doesn’t follow. I look back but he’s already headed for the horses, ready to take care of the stock.

  I order two fried chicken plates to go and head outside to meet Bump. He’s nowhere to be found. Mr. Tucker comes my way. “Looking in the wrong direction,” he says, pointing behind the restaurant to a pasture. Bump has unloaded the horses and moved them to a lake for fresh water.

  I look for a spot in the field to have a picnic. Mr. Tucker clears his throat. I sense he has something to say. “I appreciate you letting me come with y’all, Mr. Tucker. I hope it’s not too late for me to compete.”

  “Glad to have you with us, Millie. No trouble at all.”

  He tugs at his mustache and lights a cigar. “I ran into your grandmother yesterday,” he says.

  I think of Oka. “Jack’s mother?” I ask, hopeful I’ll finally get the chance to meet her.

  “No, no. The Reverend’s wife. Sister Applewhite.”

  “Oh,” I say, unable to hide my disappointment.

  “I told her you were working with us now. Told her to drop by sometime. Hope that’s okay.”

  “Sure,” I say, knowing it won’t make a bit of difference. She won’t bother coming to the rodeo, and that’s fine with me.

  “She wanted me to give you something. I’ve got it out here, in my truck.”

  I follow him, wondering why after all this time my grandmother wants to acknowledge I exist. Why she decides to reach me through Mr. Tucker, instead of Diana.

  He reaches across the seat and pulls out an oversized envelope tied with string.

  “I’ll be over here, if you need anything,” he says, walking out to the pasture to meet Bump.

  I sit on the seat of his truck and open the envelope. Some pictures fall out. Photos of Mama as a girl. The first is of Mama at a church function, pig-tailed and smiling in front of a cross. I assume it is her baptism. Her parents stand near her. She has a Bible in her hand. Another shows her as a toddler in her mother’s arms, holding an Easter basket and an egg. The last shows Mama a bit older. With Bill Miller. They are standing close. Engaged.

  A note is included with the photos. It is written formally, in small black cursive letters, tilted with a hard hook to the right. “Maybe there is no such thing as forget,” I read, “but I think it is time to forgive.”

  Attached to the short message, my grandmother has added one more important note. A letter from Mrs. Oka Reynolds. It is faded. Across the yellow paper, the envelope is addressed to Mrs. Sarah Applewhite, Mother of Miss Marie Applewhite.

  Inside, the letter reads:

  Dear Mrs. Applewhite,

  I hear my son intends to marry your daughter, Marie. I extend my warmest wishes to you and your family. I thank you for giving him a place to call home.

  With Best Regards and Most Sincere Appreciation,

  Mrs. Oka Reynolds

  I flip back to the envelope and notice a return address.

  34 Creekside

  Willow Bend, Mississippi

  I am without words. I now know how to find Oka. I may finally have not one but two grandmothers in my life. I look at the photos again and read the letter three times in a row, realizing that Jack is not so different from me. That all Jack ever wanted was a family. A place called home.

  Bump’s voice shoots across the pasture, “Millie! Millie Reynolds. Watch this!” And there he is, coming across the lake on the back of Scout, the palomino stallion. Scout’s head lunges forward with each deliberate stroke through the water, as Bump waves his hat in the air and shouts: “Marry me, Millie!”

  Mr. Tucker laughs, hollers out from the pasture, “Girl, you gonna have a wild ride with that one.” I leave the chicken dinners and my grandmother’s package on the seat of Mr. Tucker’s truck. I race out to meet my gentle cowboy.

  CHAPTER 40

  As we follow the caravan out of Monroe, I think about the man in the truck who stopped to see if I was okay. I think about Sloth. I sense he’s watching over me. Maybe, if I can believe that Sloth has been watching over me since his death, that he saved me from my fall. Maybe if I can believe, as Mabel once told me, that there is no such thing as coincidence. Maybe if I can feel the presence of God, in a worn Delta cabin. Maybe if I can hear God speak to me after a horrific event in the steeple of His church. Maybe if I can drive all alone out of Mississippi and find my true self on the back of a horse. Then maybe there really is something larger at work in my life.

  Maybe God isn’t a madman, as Jack claimed at my brother’s funeral. Maybe everything isn’t in God’s hands, as my grandfather insists. Maybe God doesn’t care if we get all dressed up and sit in the pew every Sunday, as Diana believes.

  Instead, maybe God comes to us through men like Sloth, watching over us as we make our own decisions. Maybe God has always been with me. Opening doors, leading me to opportunities, letting me choose my own path, and loving me even when I chose the wrong one. Never giving up on me. Knowing all along that I am on a journey. That I must find my own way to Him. Maybe River was right. Maybe God does still believe in me.

  In the end, sitting at Bump’s side, I no longer feel afraid. Instead, I feel whole and loved and complete, in a way no one like me should ever be able to feel. Not after all I have seen in the world. After all the hurt and hate, fear and fury. I pull off the highway. I get out of the truck and walk around to the passenger side. I give the keys to Bump and say, “Your turn.”

  Bump climbs behind the wheel and waits for me to look him eye to eye. “I love you, Millie. Through and through.”

  I close my eyes and spread my arms and say, “Okay, Mr. Kenneth Anderson. I trust you.”

  He honks the horn and together we drive off. Into the free.

  … a little more …

  When a delightful concert comes to an end,

  the orchestra might offer an encore.

  When a fine meal comes to an end,

  it’s always nice to savor a bit of dessert.

  When a great story comes to an end,

  we think you may want to linger.

  And so, we offer ...

  AfterWords—just a little something more after you

  have finished a David C Cook novel.

  We invite you to stay awhile in the story.

  Thanks for reading!

  Turn the page for ...

  • A Note Regarding the Word Gypsy

  • Reader’s Guide and Additional Discussion Questions

  • Author Interview

  • Just for Book Clubs

  • Acknowledgments

  A NOTE REGARDING THE WORD GYPSY

  The word gypsy is considered a derogatory term by many travelers. While most Americans think of this word as a beautiful term to describe a fascinating culture, it is often used as a hateful description of minority ethnic groups across the world.

  When writing this book, I struggled with the use of this term. Because the book is set in Mississippi in the 1920s–40s, I opted to use the term gypsy when townspeople refer to the group. I believe this to be an authentic use of the word for the time period. However, in order to encourage modern readers to be more considerate, members of the caravan refer to themselves as travelers or Romany.

  The last thing I want to do is offend the Romany people, whom I admire so greatly. I based my scenes on factual research found in books, newspapers, and interviews, but the work is completely fictional. I hope I have managed to portray this culture in a positive light.

  I welcome your comments and hope this opens a constructive dialog to promote peace among all people. Read what one Romany traveler has to say about the word gypsy and much more about his modern-day life in the Stat
es. Visit www.juliecantrell.com.

  READER’S GUIDE

  Spoilers ahead!

  1. How do the Reverend Paul Applewhite (Millie’s grandfather) and Jack Reynolds (Millie’s father) compare? Are they more alike or different from one another? What characteristics of these two men attract so many admirers (church members and rodeo fans)? Are you more drawn to those who live on the edge of madness, the more eccentric, creative, or wild personalities? Or do more stable personalities demand your attention? Think of famous people in today’s society. What is it that makes them so magnetic? What kind of people do you most admire?

  2. Throughout her life, Millie is trying to figure out whether or not she really believes in God. Her mother seems to rely on her faith to keep her anchored, singing hymns, praying, telling Bible stories, and quoting Scripture, yet she never takes Millie to church. Millie feels closest to God when she’s in nature, and she speaks of the gypsy gathering as “holy.” How does Millie’s questioning make you consider your own faith? When do you feel closest to God? What do you like or dislike about organized religion and traditions? Have you ever been judged, criticized, ostracized, or punished because of your faith? Have you ever visited a country (or do you live in a country) where religious worship is prohibited? What is the effect?

  3. When Millie falls from the tree, she believes that a man catches her and saves her life. She sees this man many times, often when she feels most alone. Do you believe loved ones can watch over us after death? Do you believe in angels? Why do you think Millie’s guardian angel came in the form of Sloth rather than as one of her parents? What role did Sloth play in her life?