May the Road Rise Up to Meet You: A Novel (32 page)

And so when she walks past the workin’ men, and sees Micah take off his hat, standin’ up straight and noddin’ his head just ever so little, she sees him in a altogether different way than she saw him before. She looks at him with a smile she doesn’t mean to make, happy to see him, happy that there’s one person out here along this stream that ain’t teasin’ her like the women slaves or oglin’ her like the overseer and the men slaves. Next day she sometimes looks up from her work washin’ the sheets just to watch him. She sees how he’s quiet as ever, but not cause he’s broken. No, not at all that. He isn’t takin’ orders from the overseer but more like consultin’ with him, tellin’ him what needs to get done, and the overseer yells at the other men to do just what Micah says. Of course, the other gals all notice Micah too, but they notice
all
the men, and for a time they’re spendin’ the mornin’s just talkin’ ’bout them and got no time for teasin’ Mary anymore.

Every noontime Mary hangs the sheets and bandages on the line ’til comes the best part of her day, walkin’ past Micah and him takin’ off his hat. She’s ready for it on the second day and gives him a little curtsey back when she passes. The gals’re just lovin’ that ’cause now they got something else to tease her about, and the other men laugh and take their hats off and bow deep at the waist, hopin’ she’ll notice them the way she does Micah. But this ain’t about none of them at all. They can tease and laugh and jump around like a buncha no-class nothin’s for all she cares. It’s like she and Micah are out there beside the river just the two of them. And he seems like he’s thinkin’ the same thing, like all this ain’t about washin’ sheets or diggin’ a levee or anything of the sort. It ain’t even about the war, no more. This is a Mary and Micah thing now, like they’re doin’ a little dance, movin’ closer and closer to each other in little tiny courtin’ steps. And Mary’s thinkin’ all the time about the secrets she still ain’t told him, wonderin’ whether maybe he’s got some secrets of his own, wonderin’ about what kindsa threads been makin’ up
his
stitchin’ up to now.

By the end of the first week with the men there, Mary takes a minute to make sure her hair and dress are all in order before she walks back to the hospital at noontime. She smiles and curtseys at Micah,
and he smiles back and bows just a little, needin’ some practice at all this type of thing. By the start of the second week, he says
Afta’noon Miss Mary
when he’s takin’ off his hat, and she knows he remembers her, too. After that first day of bein’ surprised by it and the next mornin’ of the gals teasin’ her some more about it, she takes to sayin’
Afta’noon Mista Micah
, right back to him.

The gals keep noticin’ Micah sure enough, but they mostly only talk about the other men who pay any attention to them. Lunchtime comes, and they go over there smilin’ and battin’ their eyes at ’em, and there’s fightin’ among ’em now because there’s nine women and just the six men, after Micah, who ain’t interested in them at all. Micah takes his hat off when they pass, same as with Mary, but there’s no smilin’ or sayin’
Afta’noon
or anything to make them feel like he’s got eyes for them, so after the second week is over, they leave him alone altogether. They start sayin’ he’s uppity and no wonder he and Mary get on so good together, and she could
have
him ’cause
th’other men’s just as good lookin’ an’ know howta show a gal they’s int’rested
.

Mary starts watchin’ Micah all mornin’ long, seein’ how he only talks to the white overseer when he has to tell him something about the project, and none of the other men seem to like him. One of the gals says she heard that Micah’s the only one there that ain’t
donated
by their Massas, that Mista Longley charges what he always does for Micah to work, and the government or the hospital or whoever it is that’s buildin’ the levees says they’ll pay it just to have Micah there. And that makes the men and the gals hate Micah all the more. But Mary starts to think that maybe he understands what it’s like for her, what it’s like to be all alone even with so many people around.

By the third week, Mary takes to stoppin’ for a minute or two to talk to Micah when she walks past. The men set themselves down by the stream eatin’ their lunch and talkin’ up the gals, and the overseer stuffs himself over by the shade tree, and there’s Micah all by himself like always. They get to talkin’ about the dress shop, and she says what Mista Kittredge said about him and what a fine job he done. He says something about how pretty her dress is, and she says it’s dirty some from hangin’ the sheets and bandages
but thank you all the same
.

Mary and Juss start gettin’ back to the house later and later since Mary’s stayin’ a little more past noon each day, and Juss ain’t about to
complain that she’s got to spend extra time with them soldiers. Micah starts bringin’ something extra for his lunch, sayin’ that’s a kinda special privilege he gets and that’s part of the reason most of the other slaves don’t like him too much. Mary starts bringin’ whatever she can too, and the two of them share what they got every day, sittin’ under a tree all by themselves with the overseer stuffin’ himself and the other slaves busy fussin’ down by the stream. The gals tease Mary that the two of ’em are just like uptight white folks with all their manners, and
when y’all gonna get to th’love makin’?
But Mary just ignores them the way she’s used to doin’ by now. They don’t know about Mista Grant, and how he done to her before the runnin’ off, way back in Carolina, back when she was just a nothin’ field hand girl livin’ with Gertie. They
couldn’t
know, she thinks, or else they wouldn’t be talkin’ that way. But what’s it matter anyhow, she figures.

This here is a Mary and Micah thing.

He still worked as much as he had with Dunmore. More even. Sometimes Sundays even. And sunup to sundown most every day of the week. Without the sometimes free days when Dunmore didn’t get outta bed until past midday. Then gave Micah a wallop or two for not wakin’ him up sooner.

No, with Massa Longley it was work most
all
the time. Lotta money to be made with this here war on. But Micah never minded the work, just like his Daddy. Took pride in it, like his Daddy. And with Massa Longley there wasn’t any talk about making a thing
look
done, even when it wasn’t. Like it had always been with Dunmore. Massa Longley understood the value of things like Dunmore never did. And working for him just this last year, Micah’d come to understand why his daddy got sold for so much back at
Les Roseraies
. And more especially, why he’d got sold for
twice
that much to Massa Longley.

This boy’s the finest craftsman this side of the Atlantic
, Massa Longley’d
say to folks tryin’ to hire him. And most of ’em would protest about paying so much for a slave to fix their stables or make them new bookshelves. But Longley knew how to deal with ’em. Made them feel like they was gettin’ something special. Told them how he had ten or twelve projects lined up waiting to be done. That if they paid that much he’d put ’em right to the top of the list.
Otherwise … might be two three months
. He’d say, shakin’ his head. And folks almost always paid to have it done now.

And with a year of that, of extra food and a cabin all his own, Micah had begun to feel like a man again. Proud. Like his Daddy. Used to receiving compliments from white men and ladies.
Mmm-mmm, you do some fine work boy
. The men’d say.
Oh it’s lovely
. The ladies’d say. ’Til they caught themselves, realized who they was talkin’ to. And Micah’d just nod his head, eventually got comfortable enough to answer back.
Thank you Suh
. Or.
Thank you Ma’am
. Was as much as he’d ever say. Not like Daddy, who could talk to white folks almost as comfortable as if he was white himself. He’d spin some kinda tale about where he learned to do this. Or how he was watchin’ some bluebirds buildin’ a nest and got an idea for that. But not Micah. His Momma once told him that Daddy and Bellie was the talkers in the family. And she and Micah were the thinkers. And that was good enough for him. ’Til Mary come along.

He first saw her just a few months after he come to Richmond. Workin’ on the store since business was so good. Didn’t take more than a few days to know that
she
was the reason for it. And he full-on smiled the day Massa Longley was late gettin’ there and he heard her speaking French to one of the society ladies. Like his Momma did back in Nawlins and sometimes ’round the cabin. But he was just a short time with Massa Longley then. Still walkin’ around mostly with them blinders on. Still feelin’ like a mule most days. And not a man who could interest a woman such as Mary.

Massa Longley hired him out to the government a few months later. Did some work on the soldier hospital and some more on the prison. Then come July and a worse job than he’d ever had with Dunmore. Digging levees so the soldier shit could get flushed out to sea without upsettin’ none of the white folks’ delicate noses in town. And he hated hearing about that job. Hated looking over the site that first
morning. Hated having a useless white overseer he’d have to clear everything through. Hated that it’d take most of the summer to finish. Six fools there to get in his way an’ laugh an’ dance like fools in fronta the fool women. Then midday came that first day and Mary walked past. A breath of elegance cutting through the stink of the latrines. And there was no more hating that job. She was something to make him think beyond the shit-filled streams and working like a mule for another man’s benefit. A reason to look forward to noontime every day. A reason to work slower than he ever had, just to drag out the stolen moments they’d have together. A reason to
know
there was a God.

’Cause something like her couldn’t happen by accident.

As the summer progressed, they went from tipped hats and curtseys to all manner of conversation. And he was slowly restored himself. Back past the year working for Longley. Back past the nightmare of Dunmore. Back to
Les Roseraies
. Only not as a little boy anymore, but a full-grown man. Talkin’ with his Momma and Daddy in some of his dreams. As a man. And them no older than they was when he was a boy. Momma reminding him about the words. Saying she didn’t spend all those evenin’s writing letters and words in the layer of flour on the table just for him to forget all about ’em when times got tough. Remindin’ him that those letters and words was the sorta things nobody could take away. And then there was Daddy, sayin’ how it wasn’t such a difficult thing to tell a story. Just gotta figure how things feel, he was tellin’ him. And then compare it to something else. How a sunset ain’t just pretty. How it’s pretty as a sweet tater pie inna windowsill at the harvest jubilation. And so on.

He’d wake from those dreams sometimes and step outside his cabin. Find a small stick, then sit on the log out front that served for a chair. His eyes straining in whatever light the moon cared to offer. And write in the dirt beneath him. Letters first. Remembering all of them. And in his head thinking what Momma said about the sounds they made. Then putting them together in words. Like so many piles of flour. ’Til it got so he couldn’t seem to think any thoughts without spellin’ the words out in his head. Couldn’t ride from Longley’s to the soldier hospital without slowing down to read every sign and every storefront in town. Smilin’ to think of what his Momma would say.
Thinkin’ ’bout how Daddy would describe such a woman as Mary. And how she changed everything just by bein’ there. More than all the sweet tater pies and sunsets and harvest jubilations there was ever gonna be.

And he passed those days with more purpose than he’d ever had before. The world, somehow, bigger now. When he wasn’t with her. And tinier too. In those moments when it was just them to pass smiles and curtseys and bows and such. Whole entire conversations like Momma and Daddy used to have. Packed tight into whatever words could be fit into those stolen moments. And him deciding it was time to be a better man. The kind of man a woman like Mary might someday get to lookin’ on the way Momma looked on Daddy. Who wasn’t ever gonna be as refined as Momma. Just like he wasn’t gonna be with Mary. But still. Maybe. With such a reason to hope. With Mary. Elegance to outshine the ugliness. Like it wasn’t such a difficult thing at all.

Mary’s so happy spendin’ lunch with Micah that all the busyness at the store, all of Juss’s talkin’ ’bout this officer or that, all the gals teasin’, all the everything that was wearin’ her down at the start of the summer, is now all wrapped up in a bundle so small she doesn’t even notice it’s there most days. Instead it’s like she’s hearin’ music in her head most all the time, hummin’ along to it whether she’s hangin’ sheets or stitchin’ dresses or just lyin’ still in bed. That music’s got her so caught up that she doesn’t even notice that the job Micah’s been workin’ on is gettin’ close to done as summer starts windin’ down.

Then one day the overseer walks over to where the gals are workin’ and says that startin’ Monday they gonna be doin’ their washin’ in the pool over there, where the first levee is all built and ready to go. It’s only then that Mary looks over and sees the second one lookin’ almost exactly like the first, and she knows that they’re just about done altogether. The ladies are all sad that day, and some of them cry when they go over to eat lunch with the men. Mary doesn’t cry ’cause the music’s
still playin’ some, just not as loud as before. Somehow she got to thinkin’ that mornin’, after the overseer came by, that even if she wasn’t gonna see much of Micah, or anything at all, that somehow it’d mean something just to know he was there. That she wasn’t an island after all. And that was way more than just something. It was a glory just to feel this way, what Gertie told her was the kinda love a man and a woman,
if they lucky, feel fo’ each otha
.