May the Road Rise Up to Meet You: A Novel (51 page)

Then as the inevitable day approached, you found yourself grown oddly frightened, not so much of the pain of labor, but by the thought of whether you would measure up in how you made it through, and even more so, whether you would measure up as a mother. But then you saw the two of them, Mam and Aunt Em, step off the livery wagon in front of the house and Mam saying how
“no woman should go through the last month of expectin’ wit’ only a well-meanin’ man to foul things up insteada helpin’ even a little bit.”
And you knew that he’d written to them, since they would not think to impose themselves upon you.

It was in those final weeks of expecting that they truly became your
own
Mam and Aunt Em, with their roles quite reversed, it seemed. Mam was the one who had been through it, and she would politely chastise Em whenever her sister started to bring up matters that didn’t need to be discussed, things like miscarriages back in the Old Country or how Ethan and Seanny and Aislinn had had another brother for the space of two days
“ ’til the Lahrd’d seen fit to take’m.”

And Mam would wave her hand or tap Aunt Em on the arm if she was close enough, and tell her,
“Oh Em, she doesn’t need t’hear any of that … why wouldja … oh love, don’t you worry about those stories from th’Old Country, where there wasn’t a doctor fer ten miles at least.”
And Aunt Em would catch herself and apologize for the rest of the day, herself becoming the soft one as never before.
“Awww love, sure I didn’t mean … Nora’s right, there wasn’t a bleedin’ hospital or a doctor or a clean sheet t’be found in dat … ohh don’t you worry none … sure you’ll be fine.”
Somehow it was a comfort to you to see Aunt Em like that, as if affirming that your own blemishes could somehow be overlooked. And your fears were allayed.

There was a day when you thought this would be it, and Ethan sent off a telegram to Da and Seanny to tell them the news. But then the doctor said it’d be a few days more at least. Still, Da and Seanny were steppin’ off the livery carriage the next morning, having traveled all night to see the new addition to the family. And they stayed, of course.

Until, on the day itself, it was Mam holding your hand and Aunt Em off in the corner talking up a nervous storm. For the first few hours it was just them, with the doctor coming in whenever he heard you calling out from the pain and staying until it passed. Then he’d go out of the room and reassure Ethan and Da and Seanny that everything was fine. And when the breaks in between the pain started getting shorter, Aunt Em started talking faster, getting more nervous and telling random stories from back in the Old Country or from just last week. It would have been funny to hear her if there weren’t knives jabbing at you from the inside, but then Mam was somehow calmer the more nervous Em became, and she let you squeeze the color out of her hand completely while whispering to you,
“Easy, love … yer doin’ foine, love … that’s it, love.”

Then finally Em stumbled upon a story that genuinely interested
you, describing how Ethan got his name, but started out by talking about the two miscarriages her sister had in the years after the difficult birth of Aislinn, and there was Mam chastising,
“Jaysus Chroist, Em, d’ya think she needs t’hear about that just now?”
There was something in hearing her use the Lord’s name that way that rattled Em out of her nervous frenzy and offered you a few more ounces of fortitude in the form of abbreviated laughter. But the knives were back soon enough, and plenty of screaming, and Mam whispering and losing the color of her hand, and Em in the corner in stunned silence …’til there were the last few pushes and the knives … and the whispers … and then it was done … the breath returning soon after … and the exhilaration of the absence of such pain overcame the fatigue for just a little while.

There was the cleaning up of your little girl to do once the doctor finished his work, and Mam was there wiping the sweat from your forehead as Em stood in tears in the corner looking at you and the little girl back and forth, with both hands covering her mouth. And there was something that made you aware of wanting to include Em in the moment, so you asked her to tell you more of the story of how Ethan got his name, nodding to her to come and sit beside you, and her face lit up at the idea. Mam helped the doctor with the cleaning up, and you watched them while Em began to speak more calmly than before.
“Well, Nora went to the Father an’ asked him fer a name that she could attach to th’little one while it was still in her womb,”
and she looked at Mam, who didn’t seem to object to such a story then.
“Well, ya know, she was hopin’ maybe the right name’d give’m a better chance of makin’ it out alive. An’ th’Father said that Ethan was a name from th’Old Testament, an’ that it meant strong and enduring. An’ dat was good enough. Nora didn’t even wait for th’Father to suggest a girl’s name.”

And the three of you laughed a little in those next few moments, talking about what it would have been if he had been a girl—little
Ethania
 … 
Ethany
 … and so on, until your daughter was wrapped in the clean blanket and nestled across your chest. The three of you were in tears then until Ethan was brought into the room, with his Da and Uncle Paddy and Seanny trailing behind, and Aunt Em, seemingly restored to herself, started saying,
“Not the whole bleedin’ lotta ya all at once wit’ what the poor girl’s been through, Jaysus,”
and you laughed and said it was fine … as
they gathered up closer to you, with Ethan on the other side across from his Mam, fumbling his hands nervously along your arm and cheek like a boy maybe half his age.

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.

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.

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.