To Live Forever: An Afterlife Journey of Meriwether Lewis (10 page)

TWENTY-TWO

A specter stepped thro
ugh me when my foot hi
t the soil of the Natchez Trace, ghosts whispering among the leaves. It was the same. And not. Its rutted dirt was the way of violence. Of possibility. A pathway to a dream. Witness to a multitude of lonesome deaths, including mine.

If I was dead. Somehow, Nowhere was worse.

The Trace was a tunnel through time.

Sunlight cast shadows through the timber, and a squirrel scampered across the trail ahead of us. I breathed in the rich smell of earth and rotting leaves and tried to remember what it felt like to lead. To be fearless, decisive. To guide another person through the unknown.

The last time I remembered having true confidence, I stood at the junction of two rivers. One was clear and rocky, like it flowed from the mountains we sought. The other was brown, unfathomable. All the men, including Clark, were convinced the rock-strewn stream was the Missouri.

Not me.

I walked along the shores of both waterways. Made calculations and studied the terrain. When I returned to camp, I knew the muddy ooze was the way. My men followed me even when they believed I was wrong, because they knew every other time, I had been right. My confidence made them believe.

I wasn’t that man anymore.

Emmaline’s step was uncertain. She picked her way through knee-high weeds at the start of the trail and slipped her hand in mine. “Where are we, Merry?”

“The Natchez Trace. A very old road.”

“If it’s a road, why isn’t it paved?”

“Roads haven’t always been paved, Em. A lot of the roads we have now started out just like this one, a ribbon of dirt through some trees.”

“Have you been here before?” She swung our arms together.

“Not here, no. Further on up.”

“What’s it like there?”

I rubbed my forehead and squinted into the trees ahead. Kids. They asked too many questions, but when they stopped wondering, they became jaded people pretending to enjoy the motions of life. I wished I could still see the world with the hue of childhood magic.

“It’s not as flat as here. The trees are different. You’ll see when we get there.”

“How long will it take?”

“I don’t know.”

My nerves twinged every time I thought about that place I never wanted to see again. The place where I died. Grinder’s Stand in Tennessee. When I closed my eyes, I could see it imprinted on the backs of my eyelids. Would it still be a wooden cabin and some outbuildings? Would I even recognize it when we got there?

Could I skip it? Or was walking over my own grave the final challenge, the last insult of Nowhere?

I let go of her hand and walked ahead. “If we don’t stop, we should make it to Nashville by next Wednesday.”

“In time to meet Daddy?”

“Yes, but we can’t dawdle. That’s a lot of ground to cover. Almost 500 miles.”

“Are we going to walk the whole way?”

“People have done.”

“Did you, when you were here before?”

“No.”

“So, you went in a car?”

“Something like that.”

“Will we get a car?”

“I hope we can find a ride once we get a little further from Natchez.”

“Like hitchhiking?” She practiced her stance, her thumb out and her face lit up with a smile that tugged at my insides. I had to get my mission right for that hopeful girl.

“I’ll take care of it when the time comes, Em. If I deem it safe. For now, we’ve got to make tracks and find a place to pitch camp for the night.”

Emmaline butterflied around me, firing questions into the fall breeze. “What kind of bird is that, Merry? Can I eat this mushroom? Why does the ground stink right here? How much further is it? What do you think Daddy will say when he sees me again? Do you think he’s already gotten my message?”

Her chatter was my lifeline. It distracted me from darker thoughts buried in dirt and leaves. “I think your father will tell you he loves you, Em, as soon as he sees you.”

“So, you
do
think he got my message.”

“It hasn’t even been a day yet.”

The wind blew hair around her face. “Do you think I’ll feel it? When he gets the two dollars? Feel it in my heart?”

Please, don’t ever rob that child of her hope.

I swallowed. “Maybe you will, Em.”

Off in the trees, dry leaves rustled, and wood snapped. Em snaked her hand into mine and whispered. “Merry. What was that?”

“An animal of some kind.”

“Will it hurt me?”

I pulled her closer. I could feel her heart hammering against my hip. “Most animals in this neighborhood don’t bother people unless we bother them. Besides, it was probably a deer, and deer don’t eat people.”

“A deer like Bambi?” She broke away and skipped around the path. “Oh, I would
love
to pet little Bambi. Can we go find it?”

“What did I just say? About bothering the animals?”

“That we shouldn’t. But I just want to pet it, and petting means love.”

“Em, to a wild animal, people mean death. I doubt a deer would let you get close enough to pet it anyway. If we see a deer, just look, all right?”

She kicked through leaves and swung her hand in mine. “Okay. How do you know so much about animals, Merry? And the woods and stuff?”

“Remember when I told you about going out West? Part of my job was to find new plants and animals and record them for science.”

“Really? Were you scared of any of them?”

Was I scared? Of course I was. Once, a grizzly took after me. My gun locked up when I tried to shoot. I never knew how fast an angry bear could run until I took off with its breath on my back. When I splashed into the river, it stopped, like it was afraid of the water. I still didn’t know why that bear ran off when it could’ve made a decent meal of me. It was one of the most frightening moments of the expedition.

Emmaline punched my side. “I bet he knew you wouldn’t taste very good.”

I had to laugh along with her.

Late afternoon, we pushed into a clearing. I sneezed when I caught a whiff of mown grass.

“God bless you, Merry.”

I bit my tongue to keep from telling her whatever god there was abandoned me, left me Nowhere, a long time ago. Instead, I focused on picking our campsite. Set off from the road, surrounded by thick trees. If cars went by overnight, they wouldn’t see our fire. The grassy space was open enough for a tent, and in the middle, a ruined brick wall cut through it. I looked through one of two window holes and found a ground down hearth set off by jagged brick and Virginia creeper.

A monument to “forgotten.”

Free of my pack, the light breeze cooled the sweat ring on the back of my shirt. When I pitched the canvas tent I bought for Emmaline, it made a crude palace for the princess of the rambling wall. Inside, I set up her sleeping bag and arranged her pack along the back. Even zipped open a flap, a window to let the stars lull her to sleep. I couldn’t wait to show her how much I knew about trail life. I surveyed the inside of her tent, capable again for the first time since the bar. Since New Orleans.

Her voice floated to me with the wind. I stuck my head out of the opening.

“Em?”

No answer.

I ducked out of the tent and poked around the clearing. On the other side of the wall, blank space greeted me. Beyond it, smashed bricks broke through the soil next to the tree line. I took a few paces into the forest. “Emmaline! Where are you?”

The leaves applauded her disappearing act.

I ran to the line of trees on the other side and cupped my hands to shout again. That’s when I saw her. She stood on the trail we walked earlier, waving her arms and talking to a tall wisp of a man. White hair and a matching handlebar mustache.

I never liked men with fancy facial hair. Couldn’t trust them.

My heart pumping, I crouched low and crept, silent, through the brush. Always was a talent of mine, hiding my tracks in the woods. As I stalked closer, I sized up the intruder. Had I seen him before? How long had he been following us? Dammit. I should have kept off the road.

I rubbed my face to arrest my wandering thoughts. Em’s voice was childlike innocence.

I stepped out of the trees and put myself between her and the stranger.

“
Merde!
” He staggered back. Put his hands on his knees and breathed through the scare I gave him. His bright eyes went from Emmaline’s face to mine, while I studied him for tell-tale bulges in his khakis. With his skinny build, how many steps would it take to overpower him, if he had a gun?

“Merry, why did you have to scare us like that?” Before I could stop her, she walked over to him and patted his shoulder. “I’m sorry, Mister Jack. Grown-ups can be really rude sometimes. That’s Merry. He’s like my father. Merry, this is Mister Jack. When I found him, he was close enough to a deer that he could almost pet it. He held out my hand to it, and I felt its breath on my fingers. It was amazing.”

The stranger’s mustache stretched across his lip when he smiled. Good or ill, I couldn’t decipher. When he straightened, he adjusted the binoculars and camera that hung from his neck. No backpack. No other visible supplies. He was unprepared for more than a few hours on the trail.

Cajun music lit up his voice. “Pardon,
pischouette
. The birds, they captivate me so. Coupled with your exquisite beauty, it’s enough to distract me from approaching strangers.”

Emmaline blushed through her sunburn, and I stepped forward and took her hand. “This is how you bird watch? By sneaking up on people in the woods?”

“Bird watching is a lonesome business. Too much noise scatters the birds.”

I pulled Emmaline’s hand to lead her away. “Let’s go, Em. We need to find another place to camp.”

She planted her feet and put one hand on her hip. Her jaw hardened. Stubborn. “What did you call me, Mister Jack? That p word?”

“Ah.
Pischouette
. Cajun for little girl. Or, in your case, beautiful little girl.”

The Cajun bowed from his scrawny waist and looked up at me. “My name is Jacques, but everyone calls me Jack.” He shifted to Em. “And, what are you called,
pischouette
?”

“My name is Emmaline. I already told you about Merry.” She waved me back with her free hand.

I grabbed it, insistent. “Nice to meet you, Jack. We’ve got to get moving now.”

He ignored me. “A pleasure to meet you. Both of you.” He stopped and scanned the tree tops, his long fingers drumming along the side of his binoculars. I could hear his breath. Deep. Even. His voice sported a reverence that was magic. “I love this spot. I started coming here several years ago. Sudden-sudden, it was. The urge to see the birds. The place called to me, with the lingering tease of the female.”

“What does that mean?”

“It means he’s a dirty old man, Em.”

He laughed, cordial-like. “Ah. Perhaps I am. Harmless, at my age. Birds turn my head now.”

Emmaline took his hand and walked toward our camp site. “So, you come here all the time?”

“Once a month. I visit and watch the birds flutter in and out of the trees. Sometimes, I bring my camera. Alas, as a photographer, I am bad-bad.”

“Do you live nearby?” She dragged her feet through leaves. Carefree.

“
Oui
. Outside New Orleans. Cajun the whole of my life.”

“New Orleans! That’s—”

“Em—” I tried to cut her off. I stepped in front of her and smiled at Jack. “This child will talk your leg off if you get her started. I’m sure we are scaring your birds away. We’ll find another spot.”

Jack took off his round hat and sun caught in his white hair. I squinted into the light that shimmered all around him. Was he following us?

The lilt of his voice made me focus. “Nonsense. I have always wanted to camp here, but I never had the courage to spend the night alone with so tangible a ghost.” He gestured to the wrecked wall. “I left my car at the pull-off, further on. If you don’t mind company, I’d enjoy camping with you.”

“Can he, Merry? Please?”

Know your enemy.
Fighting tactics from long ago echoed through my mind. It was always easier to camp close to the natives out West. Whether friend or foe, I could watch them. Learn their habits. Note their weaknesses. Most times, they were friendly.

But, if Jack was Wilkinson’s man, keeping him close might be the best way to defeat him. To learn whether Wilkinson was on our tail.

I shook off my misgivings and gripped the man’s hand. “Jack might have a time following your chatter, Em. But, another hand for the fire might be nice.”

“Good-good. Glad it’s settled. I’ve got provisions in the car. A sleeping pallet and a can of red beans we can share.” Leaning over to Emmaline, he winked. “I believe I have some marshmallows, too.” In four strides, he was in the trees, singing baritone.

Way down yonder in the bayou country in dear old Louisianne......

Emmaline clapped her hands. “He’s singing
Cajun Baby
! Daddy used to sing that song to me. Merry, isn’t Mister Jack handsome?”

I rolled my eyes and waited for his voice to peter out before kneeling in front of her. “Emmaline, you can’t tell everyone we meet who you are and where you’re from. We don’t know anything about Jack. He could be dangerous.”