Untitled Agenda 21 Sequel (9781476746852) (31 page)

Micah studied the flowers carefully, gave some to me, and ran over to Ingrid with the rest. Then he joined us and squatted beside the map, curious. “What are you doing?” he asked.

“We're getting ready to start our journey again,” David told him gently.

“All of us? Paul and Ingrid and George and all of us?” He grinned,
ready for the adventure with his new friends. He must have forgotten his poor tired feet and worn-out shoes.

“Just us, buddy. George will stay here with Paul and Ingrid,” David told him.

“We can't leave them! We need each other. Who is going to teach me more history? What about my spear?” Little frown lines creased the space between his eyebrows.

Paul smiled. “George will be here to help us. As for your spear, I think this piece of wood will work just fine without anything added. I've felt it and it's plenty sharp with that little bit of turtle shell in it.” He handed it to Micah. “And maybe we can catch up with you later.”

Micah looked relieved at Paul's vague promise. “We'll leave a trail for you to follow.” He held the spear proudly, my little miniature soldier.

Paul shook his head. “Don't leave a trail.”

“Why not?” Micah asked. “How will you find us?”

“People who love you will find you without a trail.”

Micah studied his little spear carefully, and then looked up at Paul. “I want you to find us. I want you to teach me more history.”

“And I want to teach you more,” Paul answered him. “But in the meantime, remember just one thing: freedom. Freedom is more important than anything else. Always.”

“Freedom,” Micah said. “I'll remember.”

“Found some wild garlic,” Ingrid called out. “Just you wait till you taste this!”

I squeezed in with the men clustered around the map. Paul showed George the line that was our river and we bent over the map, our heads close together. Micah pushed in beside me, listening intently, with his little spear at his side.

“Looks like it dumps into this river not far from here.”

“Down here, look, see how another river meets the first one.”

I watched as they moved their fingers above the map, following the curves of the lines that represented our path.

“Comes together, forms a point.”

“Bet there was a city there.”

“There was a city. The words have faded on this old map but you can make out part of it. Pittsburgh.”

“Great spot for a city. River transport and all that.”

“It was a big city back then. Probably still has buildings standing.”

“They can't have torn down all the buildings.”

“Probably not.”

“Who knows? We won't know till we get there.”

“Might be some boats there. You know, since there are rivers, there's bound to have been boats, too.”

“A boat would be wonderful. We'd cover more distance quickly,” I said.

“But you'll be easily seen. Anyone along the river—if there is anyone—would see you immediately.”

“We'd travel at night. Hide during the day. Same as before.”

I heard the excitement in our voices, the back-and-forth of ideas, the possibilities of what might be discovered, recovered, and proven useful. But I also heard the cautionary notes and wariness.

Elsa was awake and fussing. I brought her out and squeezed back in with the others studying the map.

She patted my face and pulled at my hair and I smiled at her. She smiled back, her dimple deep and lovely. She looked the way I looked in that old photograph of Mother and me.

A ladybug crawled along the ground by my foot. I remembered a snatch of rhyme my mother would recite.
Ladybug, ladybug, fly away home. Your house is on fire and your children will burn
.

Ingrid was humming again. I could see her as she bent over the pot, stirring, tasting, stirring some more, adding a little salt, sprinkling the fine white grains onto the liquid with her fingertips.

“Would have to be a boat made of metal or fiberglass. Wood boats would be too rotten by now.”

“There might be leftover shoes in the buildings,” Micah said. So he
hadn't forgotten his aching feet, after all. Shoes would be a wonderful discovery. A boat would be a miracle.

“The big river runs a little bit north but it does go west. Later it dips more south.”

“West is what we want but it has to be southwest. Her goal is Kansas.”

“Kansas may be impossible. It's too far. Besides, it gets very cold there in the winter.”

“There might be other places. Does it have to be Kansas?”

“Maybe not Kansas. But a new world. A safe place.”

“Eventually another river will branch off, heading south.”

“We'll be safer on water than on land. Not only can we travel faster, but we'll be farther away from wildlife.”

“What wildlife?”

“Don't know for sure. Different than here, for sure.”

“Do you think there are others out there? Other people?”

“Don't know.”

“I heard talk back at the mandatory meetings about the rights of indigenous people.”

“What are they? What about them?”

“They are the first people to live in a place. That was supposed to make them have special rights. All part of the agenda. Don't know why.”

“What's an agenda?” Micah's little-boy voice, little-boy questions.

The talk went on and on. Ingrid's humming continued.

The sun moved across the sky, predictable, and reliable. A constant force—part of a larger plan I couldn't comprehend but could respect.

Ingrid's soup simmered with plopping sounds, like bubbles bursting. Warm aromas drifted out of the cave toward us.

“When are you all starting off?” George asked.

“Tonight,” I said. There was no question in my mind. Tonight might not even be soon enough, but it would have to do. “Tonight, after we eat. We'll walk at night.”

I had to get busy, and pack up our bundles. I'd make sure we had everything and tie them securely.

The map was folded, handed back to me.

Paul handed me some packets of sugar, powdered milk, and salt. Ingrid gathered up some jerky and dehydrated apples.

“Can you spare all of this?” I asked them.

They simply nodded. I added everything to my bundle.

Then we ate. And it was good. It would be our last warm meal for some time.

It was time to leave. Somehow, before we walked away, I had to thank Paul and Ingrid.

I reached into a bundle and pulled out the recipe cards.

“A gift for you, Ingrid.” I handed them to her.

“Lord, child, thank you.” She held the cards tightly, as if afraid I would change my mind. “And I have something for you.” She handed me a bed linen she had tied into clumsy knots so it resembled a bag of sorts.

“What is it?” I asked her.

“A sling for Elsa. Let me show you how it works.” She slipped it onto me, securely over my shoulders and it rested on my back. “There. This should help.” She smiled, proud of her handiwork.

“How clever of you. Thank you so much.” I gave her a quick hug.

Then I offered the gold coin to Paul. “For you,” I said.

“No, Emmeline. I don't want or need gold. It is enough for me that we could help you. You and your children are more precious than gold. You might need that coin in the future, in an emergency.”

I searched through my bundle for something else to give to this gentle, wise man.
The New Testament
with its red cover, gilded title, and onion-thin pages. I looked at what my mother had written inside with her fine curlicue writing.
For my beloved daughter, Emmeline. May she read and understand
.

The first Paul time saw it, he made sure his hands were clean, then
held it in a worshipful manner. Surely, this would be the perfect gift for him. I held it out to him, but again he shook his head no.

“No, Emmeline. I know that book quite well. Take it with you. Study it. Teach it to Micah and Elsa. It's an important history book.”

“What can I give you? How can I repay you?”

“You repaid me by knowing the value of freedom. That gives me hope for the future of our world. And you should take this little bit of honey with you. Use it wisely.”

The jar of honey that he handed me went into my bundle.

“May I hold her one more time?” George asked softly.

I handed Elsa to George and she went without a whimper. He held her in his arms, and kissed her soft cheek. She touched his face with her hand.

He held her for several minutes. We watched silently, not wanting to disturb the beautiful sadness of their special time.

Finally, George handed her back to David, shook David's hand, and hugged me briefly.

“For you, George.” I handed him the photograph of Mother and me. “Elsa looks like I did as a child. Take this and remember me. Look at it and see Elsa.” It was the least I could do, and yet sadly, the most I could do. The photograph would be his memory keeper.

Then he walked into the cave, carrying the picture. Saying good-bye would be too final for him, one more good-bye in a long list of too many.

There was nothing more to be said. I hugged Ingrid and Paul, feeling their frail, thin bodies in my arms, feeling their tear-streaked faces against my own.

We were all crying.

It felt like the whole world should be crying for so many reasons.

I
t was bittersweet, walking away from Paul and Ingrid. They had sheltered us, fed us, and helped me tend to David's arm until it was healed. Paul taught us just enough about history that I knew the value of the words
never again, never again
. I regretted that we didn't have time for more lessons. I would miss dear, sweet Ingrid, who took childlike pleasure in rituals and simple things, like sweeping out the cave, finding wild garlic, and cooking with whatever she could find. How hard it was to say good-bye to them. I was grateful that George would be with them, grateful that he was alive and sad that he had endured the farm commune, the ball and chain, all because he had tried to help me and his unborn daughter find freedom.

Leaving friends behind was bitter and, at the same time, escaping from the dark world of the Authorities and fences was so sweet. We expected the journey would be difficult, dangerous, but the reward would be glorious. I wouldn't look back, and I would never go back.

The first night of walking was difficult. We were tired and unaccustomed to the strain. Our bundles were heavy and although the sling helped, I still needed to carry Elsa. David and I switched our burdens
back and forth. Micah carried the smallest roll and his little spear but often had to drop them and rest his arms. Elsa napped off and on in her sling but woke frequently to squirm and fuss. Owls' screeches and Elsa's cries made for a strange mixture in the wild dark. When she cried, I offered my finger for her to suck and held her in my arms, but she squirmed and pushed my hand away. She wanted to lie down, not be carried.

“Are we there yet?” Micah whispered.

“Not yet, buddy.”

The river bubbled beside us and fish splashed through the water. The stars shone bright tonight, sparkling white dots, with no clouds to cover them. The sky seemed so big, and I felt so small under it.

We walked on.

Paul had added a layer of rabbit skins to our shoes on top of the rubber linings. The soft fur was turned up against the soles of our feet. I wondered how long they would last. Maybe we would find Micah's imaginary building full of shoes.

My calves began to burn. Micah moved slower and slower, until finally he was dragging his roll behind him.

“Are we there yet?”

“Maybe we should stop for the night,” David whispered. “We've been up since early morning. And we all need rest.”

The river curved around to the right, then ahead rose the shabby skeleton of another bridge. This one was wooden with slats missing, while others dangled down like fingers pointing at the water. At each end of the of the bridge, stood hard, gray beams, upright and stiff like Gatekeepers monitoring the river's flow.

Not us. Never again.

Farther on, David discovered a flat, mossy space, and with barely a word, we settled in there, under the stars, for the remainder of the night.

Dawn woke us as dawn wakes all living things. Pale light seeped
silvery gray along the horizon, then spread upward and outward, until the sky was golden and the stars faded. Birds celebrated the light and flew in circles and swirls. From our mossy beds, we looked up and watched their dark shapes dance against what quickly became a pale blue sky.

It was crickets and moss for breakfast. Elsa, on hands and knees, busied herself looking for bugs, popping them into her mouth, and holding the occasional one out to me.

“Can we move forward during the day?” I asked David. “Can we stay hidden but keep the river in sight?”

“I think so. We'll make much better time in daylight.”

We spent the day slogging on. Micah whispered a near-constant barrage of questions at David.

“What's this?” He'd point one way. “What's that?” as he pointed elsewhere.

Each time David answered patiently.

“A dragonfly.”

“A snail.”

“An old piece of barbed wire from long ago.”

“Fungus on a tree. Don't eat it.”

Elsa wanted to baby-walk between David and me on her tiptoes, holding our hands. That really slowed us down. Finally, David plunked her atop his shoulders and she happily held on, her small pink fingers twined through his dark hair.

For what must have been the thousandth time, I looked over my shoulder and scanned the land around us. We passed through a stand of younger trees in what had been a clearing many years before, now reclaimed by the forest. We noticed patches of a solid gray surface. Then I saw, farther ahead, barely visible above the tree line, a tall silver pole with a drooping tattered flag. On the flag was a faded image of a large dark animal.