To Live Forever: An Afterlife Journey of Meriwether Lewis (14 page)

THIRTY

Saturday. October 8, 1977. Near Kosciusk
o, Mississippi.

Emma
line trawled her feet on the trail ahead of me. She’d been happy to walk when we broke camp, but as the day wore on, the monotony of hiking blighted her disposition. She wove from side to side on the trail, idle hands pulling at dry leaves and slapping at vines. Once, she even started limping.

I wrapped my arms around Em’s waist and lifted her off the ground, backpack and all. “Let’s give you a little rest, Em. I’ve pushed you hard today, but it couldn’t be helped.”

“You don’t have to carry me, Merry. I can walk. Clearly. I’ve walked the skin off the bottoms of my feet today.”

“You’re limping. Does your leg hurt?”

“It’s sort of a come-and-go pain. It moves around. But it’s all better now. Will you put me down?”

I lowered her feet to the rutted ground beside me. The caw-caw of a crow sounded in the distance, filtered through leaves that rustled in the wind. The scent of earth and pine.

I breathed deep, willing us both to relax, to break through Emmaline’s frustrations, to bring us both a bit of calm. After a minute or two of walking, Emmaline took my hand. Her deep breaths matched my own. Cleansed. Together.

I cleared my throat. “I remember the first time I had to do a long stretch of hiking.”

“How old were you?”

“Five or six. I don’t remember exactly. Younger than you, though.”

She peered up at me. “Did your daddy teach you?”

“My step-father. That man loved to be out in the woods. Taught me to understand it like he did.”

“Step-father? Did your parents get a divorce like mine?”

“No. My dad died when I was a little guy. I don’t really remember him.”

“Oh. Like my mother.” She sniffed but kept her eyes trained on the trail ahead.

“After a fashion, yes.”

“What happened to him?”

I listened to my breath. In and out. “Pneumonia killed my father.” I remembered hearing air rattle in his chest. From the doorway, I watched him drown in his own juices, saw his chest labor to rise and fall. My head barely came as high as the door knob. I stood at attention until my legs cramped, but I wanted him to look at me. To see me, one more time.

He never acknowledged me before life wheezed out of him. I sat on the edge of the bed. Pretended those glassy eyes could see. They followed me the whole of my life.

Em’s voice nudged me back. “Were you close to him?”

“Not really, but he was my father, and I respected him. He’d been away a while before he got sick. Was gone a lot, actually. Must have caught the lung fever during his travels.”

“I thought you said he got pneumonia.”

“Lung fever. Pneumonia. Same thing. Lung fever is… an older term for it.”

“Oh. I never heard it before. So, were you there when he died?”

I couldn’t tell her how much his eyes haunted me. How I saw them change the moment his spirit fled. I didn’t want her to imagine her mother that way. Our walk through Nowhere was nightmare enough.

I picked up a stick and threw it. Watched it run aground. “I remember seeing him lie in state in the front parlor. People came over to the house to pay their respects. I stood next to him until my little legs ached. Even fought my mother when she tried to make me go to bed. I wanted to keep him with me for as long as possible. When I touched his skin, it was as cold as the chill in the room. I never could get warm in that house after that.”

“When my friend at school’s aunt died, we went to a fancy funeral home. Why did they come to your house?”

“Uh. Well, when there aren’t any fancy funeral homes around, the house has to do.”

“I guess you still miss him, huh? It sounds like you really loved him.”

“The loss of a parent is always a hole, Em. It never quite fills up.”

“That’s why you understand how I feel about my daddy, right?”

I helped Emmaline step over a fallen log. Its rotting core was shredded around an empty chasm that rang hollow when I kicked it with the toe of my boot.

“Perhaps it is. I was lucky, though. My step-father came along and took care of me. He’s the one that turned me into a man.”

“So, he was the one you loved like your daddy? The way I loved Aunt Bertie like she was my real mother?”

“Over time, I grew to see him as my father, yes, and I loved him just as much. Could be why I understand how you miss your dad so much.”

She picked a spray of yellow ragweed. Pulled at the individual buds and let them trail in the breeze. “I bet my daddy could hike for days and days without getting tired like me. I’m such a baby sometimes.”

I hugged her to me, a quick gesture of reassurance to keep from telling her how much I admired her mettle. It made people aspire to things, but determination fueled their footsteps, even when the ground ran out. She was both a dreamer and a doer.

Like me. In a lot of ways, she was just like me.

“You want to hear tired, Em? The first time I went hiking with my step-dad, I walked right off the edge of a cliff. Only fell a few feet, into some bramble, but my ego took a bigger tumble. My step-dad had to rescue me and carry my crumpled up and howling self right back into the house. Everybody laughed at me. It took me a whole day to recover.”

“Were you scared to hike after that?”

“Sure I was. But, the next morning, I was out there. Trying again. My step-dad was big on not letting a thing whip you.”

“Did you fall that time?”

“Not in the same place, but I fell. Got lost, too. Lots of times. The bad things are all part of the experience, Em. You can’t see the things a trail has to offer if you aren’t willing to take on the worst of it. Think of everything we’d miss if we avoided life’s trials: the river trip with Mister Jim, the birds with Jack, the turtles in the swamp, the pink sky at sunset and the boom of night noise.”

She sunk into a mound of dirt on the side of the trail, and I eased down beside her. Shadows danced on her hand when I took it. The black wingspan of a vulture swooped down and slipped out of view. Her voice was diminished by defeat. “I feel so stupid. About everything. You always know the right things to do, and I never know anything. I thought it would be so easy to get to Daddy, but it’s not.”

“Emmaline, does anybody know the first thing about anything? I mean, I don’t ever know how a day is going to turn out when I get up in the morning, but that doesn’t stop me from tackling it. I seldom know what I’m doing, but I figure it out as I go along.”

“But I’m never going to be able to hike in the woods like you, Merry. Never in a million years. Everything scares me, and I get so tired, and then I get mad at myself for being scared and tired.”

“You won’t be able to master it if you don’t keep trying. Look. These woods are a part of life right now, and if you keep pushing, you’ll figure them out. Don’t expect to know everything all at once. Just let the bits and pieces be enough.”

She let off a shaky exhale, but she never cried. Progress. I could see her growing, that stubborn set to her chin. “Bits and pieces. For the past few months, I’ve only had little pieces of Daddy. Letters he wrote me. A few pictures. The bits and pieces were never enough, because here I am. No matter how hard it is or how tired I get or how scared I am. I’m going to find Daddy. With you.”

“I’m glad, Em. I’m glad you’re with me.”

“Let’s go on, Merry. I’m ready. I promise I won’t be such a baby anymore.”

Her promise was lost when a thunderous boom shook the ground, followed by rapid gunfire. I jumped to my feet, with Emmaline clinging to my leg.

“What’s that?”

“It sounds like cannon fire to me. Through there. Other side of those trees.”

“Are they firing at us?”

“Ssh. Let’s creep over to the tree line. See what’s going on. Stay behind me.”

THIRTY-ONE

My legs couldn’t keep up with Merry. But
I ran behind him thr
ough the trees, toward the booming sounds. My nose burned, like the time we shot Mardi Gras fireworks in the courtyard behind the house, and the colored smoke hung in the air. I liked the glow worms best, because they laced out from a tiny button we set on fire. Some of the shapes were pretty, and they didn’t stink like firecrackers.

“Gunpowder.” Merry stopped and held up his fist, his signal for me to stop, too. “I think they’re shooting over there, beyond that line of trees. Stay behind me, and be quiet.”

Another blast lifted me off the ground, making my ears ring. When I screamed, my voice was lost in another roar like thunder. With my palms over my ears, I mouthed
sorry
and stumbled behind Merry. Loudness like that was really exciting-scary, because I didn’t know when the next explosion was coming, and it was hard not to react. When I tried to hold in my screams, they always came out even louder. I bit my lips together, my mind on Daddy’s face. What it would look like when he saw me.

Merry mashed his body flat against the trunk of a thick tree and pulled me beside him. Beyond the twisting branches and weeds, a small clearing opened into a rolling field that crawled with people. The men were dressed in knee-length pants with navy blue coats, and they wore triangle hats on their pony-tailed heads. Some of the men walked in a single line, and their guns had swords coming out of the ends. Other groups of soldiers stood around cannons that rolled on giant spoked wheels. Tents dotted the site, with bonfires near their openings.

“Merry, what are they—”

“Ssssh.” He pulled me closer to him. I could almost hear his heartbeat through the front of his shirt.

When I smelled meat, I realized they were cooking fires. A woman in a long dress stirred a steaming black pot with a witchy wooden paddle. My stomach cartwheeled. Food didn’t stay with me on the trail. I was always hungry.

Merry’s bird-like eyes followed a man’s march around the edge of the field, next to the trees. He had a gun slung over one fat shoulder, and his face was slack, sort of like mine felt when I was bored in school.

When the man came close to our hiding place, he weaved into the trees. A stick cracked behind us. Before Merry could turn around, the tip of a gun tapped him on the shoulder. “Get up.”

Merry shielded me with his body. The soldier looked over his shoulder and spat, still pointing a gun at Merry’s chest.

Merry stood a little taller. “My daughter and I, we’re just a couple of hikers, out for the afternoon. We’re not part of whatever it is you’re doing here.”

The man leaned over his round belly and spat on the ground again. I tried not to make a face when I saw that his teeth were crooked and brown. “We’re mustering. War of 1812. And, we don’t allow people to snoop around the perimeter.”

“We’re not snooping. I already told you. We’re hiking. Education, you know. For my daughter.”

The man spat more tobacco juice. “I have my orders.” He eyed us down the length of the gun. I closed my eyes and held my breath when it clicked, but nothing happened. His laugh was a low growl. “You two best come with me.”

I pushed into Merry’s leg, but he didn’t move. Instead, he stared off into the field, hypnotized by the men marching in rectangle formations. His jaw was tight, and his eyes were really wide, like the field was full of ghosts. I cleared my throat. “What is it, Merry?”

“I—” He blinked and shook his head, and his eyes were normal when he looked down at me. “It’s nothing, Em. This whole scene is……familiar.”

The end of the gun tapped Merry’s shoulder. “Let’s make it even more familiar, shall we? Now, move.”

Merry brushed off the seat of his pants and started walking, and I slipped my hand in his and clung tight, while the soldier pointed the way with the end of his gun. We passed rows of cannons. Troops in old-timey uniforms. Most of them stopped when we passed.

“Prisoners.” It was all the soldier ever called us as we marched across the field. Smoke tore at my eyes and made them water. At least, that’s what I told myself it was. I clutched Merry’s hand and tried to copy his walk: clipped steps and straight back. He looked more like a soldier than anyone else.

Over a rise, a lanky man stood beside a dirty tent, his head shriveled under a shock of bright red hair. Merry stopped, and I almost bumped into him.

The soldier pushed us up the hill with his gun. When we reached the top, he spat a stream of tobacco juice on Merry’s boots and saluted the red-haired man. “I found these two spying in the woods yonder. Other side of the field.”

Merry broke in. “Don’t you think you’re taking your ancient war games a little too seriously?”

The man with the carrot hair and horsey face walked up to Merry and stood, nose-to-nose, in front of him. For a few seconds, he just breathed, in and out, and glared at Merry without blinking. Merry stood at attention and never broke his stare. If I weren’t so scared, it might’ve been funny. I’d seen boys act that way on the playground, right before they started to fight, but I didn’t think grown-ups did it, too.

The soldier spoke through clenched teeth. “War is serious, and you, my friend, are in serious trouble.” He cut his eyes. “Put them in the tent. Tie him up, but you can leave her free. I’ll keep watch.”

I heard a crack, and Merry fell forward on his face. The back of his head was bleeding. I dropped to my knees and pressed my hands to his head. “Why did you have to shoot him? What did he do to you?” I felt my eyes tearing up, but really I was just mad.

The red-haired soldier picked Merry up under his arms and dragged him into the tent. A hand tugged at my arm and made me follow the grooves his boots made in the dirt. The soldier’s gun was bloody at the butt, and he slung it over his shoulder. “He’ll be all right. Might have a headache later. Though, with what he’s got coming, he’ll likely wish I’d shot him.”