Rush Home Road (23 page)

Addy shook her head and pretended to be interested in the clasp on her suitcase.

“Olivia's husband-to-be, Darryl, he's nineteen years of age and never worked a day in his life. Never thought I'd see the day. He's going to school up to Toronto, says he wants to be a lawyer, though I don't see such respectability in that as others do. And don't his folks think he's too good for Olivia. Lord. His Daddy owns a restaurant and that's quite a thing for a coloured man. Olivia's Daddy, Hamond, that's my son, he's a farmer. Olivia feels ashamed her Daddy not a educated man.” She huffed, “Blames
me
I didn't let him stay in school.”

Addy pulled an apple from her pocket and bit into it noisily, hoping to offend the woman and discourage any further conversation.

“That look like a nice apple. Spy, ain't it? Don't this county turn out the nicest Spys?”

Addy turned on the old woman coolly. “Apple comes from Detroit, Ma'am.”

“Oh. Well. Close enough. Close enough. Same soil really. Looks juicy like the Spys from around here. And don't that apple know how to hold on its flesh in a hot oven, too. Make my fingers itch to roll a pie crust when I smell that apple smell.”

Addy felt a faint rush of tenderness toward the woman, thinking that was just the kind of thing her own mother might have told a stranger. She reached into her pocket and pulled out another Spy and shined it on her coat before she gave it as a gift.

“Why thank you. Thank you very kindly. I didn't have time to eat much more than some bread and honey before I left this morning. I get dizzy now, being old as I am and heavier than in my youth.”

Addy turned to look at the woman more closely. She was heavy and coarse, her fingernails dirty, her grey hair oiled and pulled back from her face. Her dress looked dusty and slept in and Addy wondered vaguely what Olivia and Darryl would think when she stepped off the train.

As if the woman could read Addy's thoughts, she said, “Olivia's Mama, that's Mary Alice, sewed me a pink dress matches with the wedding decorations at the church basement. I never did care for pink decorations and I'm too old to wear a pink dress, but I'm not one to complain. Where you headed to?”

“Toronto,” Addy said, smiling. “I'm going to Toronto.”

The old woman sucked her teeth again. “You won't like it.”

Addy was startled. “I believe I will.”

“It's muddy and crowded and cold. ‘Whites Only' signs in all the windows.”

Addy looked at the woman, not comprehending. Surely this could not be true in Toronto, for what had Dr. Shepherd meant then, when he'd said life in Canada was different?

The woman continued, “Don't know where you'll be living but I can tell you white people won't rent you an apartment.” She chewed off a hangnail and spat it on the floor. “The Jews'll rent to you though. Most of them real good, real kind. They ain't Christian, but you wouldn't know it from their actions. Jesus musta forgive them, too, because at least a few of them got houses of their own. Not one house in that whole big city owned by a Negro though, no matter if he a lawyer or not.”

“That can't be true.” Addy was shocked.

“That's what I'm told. That's what I told Olivia, but don't nobody listen to me. I'm just a old woman. You got kin in Toronto?”

“No, Ma'am. I'm going to see a doctor there.”

“Coloured doctor? You sick?”

“Yes, Ma'am. No, Ma'am.”

“You rich?”

“Beg your pardon, Ma'am?”

“'Cause if you gonna live in Toronto you wanna be rich
and that's a fine wool coat you're wearing, but I don't think you're rich.”

Addy set her jaw and answered carefully. “Well, Ma'am, I do have a valuable ring my Poppa left me and I intend to sell it for quite a sum of money.”

The old woman narrowed her eyes. “What kind of ring?”

“Diamond.”

“Diamond ring?”

“Yes, Ma'am.”

“Well maybe you are rich then. Maybe you are.”

Addy was annoyed to see that the old woman did not believe her so she reached into the side pocket of Poppa's old suitcase and pulled out the little velvet box. She opened the box slowly and presented it with a flourish.

The old woman flared her nostrils. “That's a diamond ring all right.”

Addy glanced up to notice an attractive, white, mustachioed gentleman dressed in a fine black coat and beautiful, though not warm or practical, blue silk scarf pause on his way to the men's room and steal a look inside the velvet box. He stopped a moment to admire the exquisite diamond before the old woman closed the lid and handed it back to Addy. As Addy'd caught the gentleman's eye, she nodded politely and he did the same before he went through the men's room door. There was no question the man was interested in the ring and no doubt he was a man of means. Addy felt relieved at the prospect of a buyer for
the diamond and hoped she might be seated near him on the train.

The train announced its arrival before it appeared. The station shook tremulously as the smoke smell blew in through the window cracks and the gap beneath the doors. Addy picked up her suitcase, intending to wait by the restrooms to speak to the gentleman with the moustache, but she was swept along with the rest of the crowd, out the doors and onto the steam-fogged platform.

As late as the train had been, there was a surliness in the conductor's manner and an impatience in the locomotive itself that seemed to blame the travellers for the delay. There was much shuffling and shouting and cries of “Step up! Step lively!” Negro porters in stiff white jackets hefted suitcases with astounding speed. People pushed and shoved and were anything but civil in their desire to be first aboard the train and to get the choicest of seats.

Addy craned above the throng, searching for the fancy gentleman, and finally caught a glimpse. She started toward him through the crowd but was stopped by a firm hand tugging her arm. She turned, incensed to find it was the shabby old woman. The woman laughed and shouted over the train, “Coloured people back here! Where you think you're going?!”

It had not occurred to Addy that there would be a separate coach for Negro travellers and she could not know yet how often in the years to come she would be shocked and wounded by such things that had not occurred to her. At
this moment, she was also vexed to have to share the same space with the irritating old woman and promised herself to sit as far away from her as possible.

The train was not all that Addy had imagined. It was cold and drafty, and being so tender as she was from her recent birth trauma, the hard uncomfortable seats would make the long trip to Toronto difficult. She was only glad she could smell food being cooked somewhere and relieved she had a few dollars left to buy something to eat. Addy waited until the old woman had settled herself at the back of the car and took her own seat near the front. She could see through the glass door into the overcrowded coach ahead and wondered if the man she sought was there or in the coach in front of that.

As they pulled away from the station, Addy looked out across the river, bidding a quiet farewell to Verilynn and Riley Rippey. The train rocked from side to side, playing a heartbeat rhythm on the rails. As it gathered speed and the icy river blurred into frosty fields, she clung to the armrest, a little afraid. She drew back when they entered dense bush and giant branches attacked her window, and hardly glanced at the uniformed man who stopped to collect her ticket. “Destination?” he asked in a smooth voice.

Addy turned away from the window. The ticket taker was young, though not young as she, and tall and thin. His skin was unusually pale, stretched taut over a web of blue veins. His eyes were deep and green like the Rusholme crick in summer. The white man smiled at Addy. “All alone, Miss?”

She nodded as he read her ticket.

“Toronto?”

“Yes. Toronto.” Addy cleared her throat.

“Long way.”

She nodded again and waited for the fellow to move along.

“Mean to stare out the window the whole way there?” he asked seriously.

“I don't think so,” she said. “I'm dizzy from it already.”

He nodded. “Just gets worse when you get up past London and the land's not so flat. Sometimes we go over a trestle and you're looking a hundred feet down into a river. Don't you like to read?”

Addy liked the way the thin man assumed she
could
read and only wondered if she
liked
to. “Yes,” she said. “But I never thought to bring a book.”

The young man didn't hear her answer, for just then he glanced ahead into the next car and was distracted by what he saw. His voice dropped. “Only eleven people back here and so crowded up there, mothers got children on their laps and two men standing.” He shook his head and laughed darkly.

Addy looked at the car ahead and ventured, “Guess they don't want to sit back here in the coloured coach?”

The tall man shook his head slowly. “Guess they don't. Maybe I don't need to care any more.” He pulled at a thread on the button of his cuff and announced casually, “I been promoted up to porter on the sleeping-car line. Be starting that job next week.”

“Oh,” Addy said, and couldn't imagine why he was telling her.

“Bet you never saw the Rocky Mountains.”

Addy shook her head.

“Didn't think so. A few weeks from now I'll be looking out a window just like that one and there they'll be. And it's not just the Rocky Mountains, but I'm gonna see the wheat fields of the Prairies and the Pacific Ocean too.”

Addy nodded absently and turned to look out the window, thinking the white man boastful and boring.

He said, “See, a trip across the country takes about four days there and four days back. I board the train at 4 a.m. I make the beds and get things ready. Passengers board at 9 a.m. and if you want to know something, I'll tell you,
that's
when the payday starts. That ain't right, but there's a Brotherhood now, just like in America.” He glanced around to make sure he couldn't be overheard. “We're getting organized. Things are gonna change.”

Addy nodded again and wished he would leave now so she could think her own thoughts and not hear any more about Rocky Mountains or Brotherhoods.

“Costs a good deal of money to buy a berth on the sleeping car. I'm told I won't see such a thing as a Negro passenger on that line.”

Addy reckoned his point in telling her was to say he was
glad
he wouldn't be seeing any more Negro passengers. She pursed her lips to show she was insulted.

He went on, “Pay's better than working these short runs and I'll be able to live at home on my off-days, too.”

Addy looked into the man's swampy green eyes and yawned deliberately. She was glad when he blushed and moved along and didn't care if he was hurt or annoyed by her lack of interest. She looked ahead at the crowded car again, wondering if she'd be allowed to look for the fancy man she thought might buy her ring. She hoped it was not the pale ticket taker she had to ask for permission.

Five minutes could not have passed before the ticket taker returned. Addy wondered if the fellow was a simpleton, for he just stood there, still blushing deeply, but saying nothing.

“You already took my ticket.”

“I know.”

“I'm going to Toronto,” Addy reminded him, in case he'd forgotten.

“I know.” The young man cast his eyes. “I'm sorry if I was disturbing you before. It's just, I forget sometimes that not everyone likes to talk as much as I do. My mother used to tell me I shouldn't act so familiar with people.”

Addy just looked at the man.

“She said remember that just because I get excited about a thing doesn't mean the rest of the world will. I remember that most times, but I guess my mouth forgets.”

Addy smiled accidentally and wished she hadn't, for the young man grinned broadly and thought he was forgiven. He leaned a little closer. “May I ask your name?”

“Why?” Addy shivered and wondered if his inquiry had something to do with the incidents in Rusholme.

“I have something to give you, but it's special and not something I'd give to a stranger. If I know your name you won't be a stranger.”

Addy considered lying about her name but when she opened her mouth the truth was on her tongue. “My name is Adelaide Shadd. Mostly I'm called Addy.”

“Pleasure to make your acquaintance, Addy. My name is Gradison Mosely. They call me George here on the train,” he said, squinting into the crowded car ahead, “but my friends back home call me Mose.”

“Why they call you George if your name is Mose?”

“All the porters are called George. After George Pullman. He's the rich fella who started the Pullman Palace Car Company. Sleeping car, that is. This train doesn't have a sleeping car but the passengers call us George anyway.”

Addy nodded, sorry she'd asked.

“Me and the other fellas are trying to get name tags put on our uniforms. I won't turn around any more when people call me George.” With that, Gradison Mosely reached into his uniform pocket and pulled out a small book. He passed her the book, saying, “I don't like to see my passengers getting dizzy from the view so I thought, well, this is one of the finest books ever written.”

Addy read the cover out loud. “
Walden Pond.
”

“By Henry David Thoreau. American fella, but don't hold that against him.”

Addy surprised herself and giggled. “I won't.”

“Read it slow as you can. It's like a fine meal. You don't want to gulp it but savour it so you can taste it in your memory when you're long done.”

Addy's skin bubbled, for she'd never heard a person talk in such a way. “If I read it slow, how can I finish it before Toronto?”

Gradison Mosely shrugged. “All right if you don't.”