21
EVERYTHING WENT WRONG.
Addie had to wear two petticoats, two skirts, an apron, two blouses, and one vest. She would have worn her shawl, too, but I said it was too warm. I got her downstairs for a quick cup of tea.
“We really goin, little missy?” she must have asked me a dozen times while we sipped our tea. Birds were already chirping outside. I heard the clop-clop-clopping of the milkman’s horse down the street. The light was a soft gray now outside the windows. And, of course, it was foggy. For once I welcomed the fog. I counted on it to shield us.
“Yes,” I said, “we are really going, Addie. Hurry now, finish your tea and biscuit. Last evening I arranged for a hack to meet us down at the corner.”
“One thing I wants afore I go,” she said.
“What? What is it?” She wasn’t going to balk on me now, was she?
“I wants one o’ them flowers.” She smiled sheepishly. “I always wanted one o’ them flowers. The kind that hangs down like bells at rest. And turns right up at night.”
“I suppose I could get you one before we leave, Addie.”
So there I was, stumbling around in the fog in Marietta’s eerie garden. I cut a yucca flower on a long stem. Addie stood waiting. Beside her on the stone walk was my portmanteau, a basket of food, and another basket with Ulysses the cat. At least he was cooperating. He’d curled right up in the bottom of the basket and gone back to sleep.
I wrapped the flower in wet paper and presented it to Addie. “Come on, now, let’s go.”
We must have made a strange procession going down the street, me with my bundles and Addie with her flower. I heard church bells chime across the city. Six o’clock. I heard and smelled the horses before they appeared out of the fog, waiting at the head of the carriage.
“Twelfth and O Streets,” I told the driver.
“That’s a long way, little lady. Across town.”
“I know. It’s the Relief Society.”
“It ain’t a good neighborhood. And the way the streets are clogged with the Grand Review today, I’ll have to charge extra.”
“How much?”
“Twelve dollars.”
I sighed and settled my things. The war was over, but people were still price-gouging. “All right,” I said. “Just get us there, please.” Thank God for Johnny’s gold pieces. It seemed like a hundred years since the morning he had given them to me.
To get to the Relief Society we had to travel through the most terrible areas, past shanties and swampy land along the lower stretches of the Washington Canal. People were just getting up, bending over cooking fires outside their shanties. In the fog they seemed like creatures from another time. I knew that these were the freedmen who had tried Elizabeth Keckley’s patience so. There were forty thousand of them in Washington now, needing schooling and homes and jobs.
Sometimes Addie gave one of the figures a wave of recognition. And they’d wave back. Then she told the driver where to stop, in front of the old army barracks.
I got out. I helped Addie down from the carriage.
“Best do your business quick and get outta here,” the driver was mumbling. “These places are known for breeding disease. ’Specially smallpox.”
“I’ll be right with you,” I told him. “Wait.” Would they want Addie here? Suppose they didn’t and I had to find someplace else for her. What would I do?
My worries were short-lived. A figure came out of the fog. “Addie? Addie Bassett, is that you? Lord awmighty, we thought you were dead!”
“Well, I ain’t. I’s alive.”
The old, white-haired Negro reverend embraced her. “You look good, Addie,” he said.
“I’s better. Been livin’ wif a doctor. He take care o’ me.” She chuckled. “I’s free. And gonna use my freedom right that Mister Linkum gave me.”
Others came forward to greet her. The fog gave an unreal quality to the voices and scenes. I saw a woman in the distance stirring something in a huge pot. Another stacking clothing on a table in some kind of order. I smelled breakfast cooking.
“Are you staying with us, Addie?” the reverend asked.
“I come to let y’all know that I’s alive and kickin’. And to pick up my things. Then I aims to git myself to the depot and be on my way. This very afternoon.”
“Where?” the reverend asked.
“Home. I’s goin’ home, Reverend. To help my people, now that the war be over.”
There was much murmuring over that. Then the reverend thanked me for bringing Addie. I took two gold coins and gave them to her. “This will get you a hack to the depot,” I said, “and buy your ticket. Where is home, Addie?” I was thinking that if it was Richmond she could come right along with me.
The reverend laughed. “She won’t tell you that,” he said. “She’s never told anyone that.”
Addie smiled. “Long ways,” was all she said. “You doan worry your head none ’bout that. You jus’ go along now.”
I hugged her. “You do good,” I said. “Make Mr. Lincoln proud.” We drove away. When I turned to look back I saw her standing there, holding the yucca flower against her bosom.
The sun had burned through the fog by the time we got across town to the main part of Washington. The streets were clogged with people and soldiers. On every corner there were regiments of the Grand Army of the Potomac, holding their battle flags, quieting their horses, being formed into lines by grand marshals. I heard muffled drums.
As we came near Pennsylvania Avenue, I gasped. The whole stretch of it, right to the Capitol, was lined on both sides with a river of people who had come to wait for the parade. They had staked out their places, brought chairs, set out great buckets of water. Enterprising people were already selling cold lemonade. Others were hawking flags or buttons with General Grant’s or President Lincoln’s face on them.
Civilians held banners, WELCOME HEROES OF THE REPUBLIC, HONOR TO THE BRAVE, said one. HEROES OF GETTYSBURG, said another. And still another, SHERMAN TO THE SEA.
Horse-drawn trolleys were decorated with bunting. Some horses from a cavalry unit were bedecked with white satin ribbons. Flags dripped from front porches, store canopies, rooftops. Brass band instruments gleamed in the sun. Hundreds of schoolchildren seemed to be running about wearing red-white-and-blue rosettes and carrying small flags.
We couldn’t get out onto Pennsylvania Avenue. All traffic had come to a standstill.
A group of white-gowned ladies walked right in front of the carriage, carrying a banner that said, WITH MALICE TOWARD NONE.
“Well? What are we going to do about this, missy? There are gonna be a hundred and fifty thousand soldiers marching here today.” The driver had plenty of malice toward me. He acted as if the whole mess were my fault.
“How far is the train depot?” I asked.
“Two blocks west.”
“I’ll walk.” I paid him and got out, pulling the portmanteau out after me.
The excitement all around me was working to a fevered pitch. I could see them coming way up at the end of Pennsylvania Avenue. Thousands of men in blue. At the same time I heard church bells ringing and the boom of mortars from the ironclads on the river.
A cheer went up from the crowd. “They’re coming, they’re coming.” The bands all began to play “The Star Spangled Banner” on cue.
“Look, the flag at the White House is at full staff for the first time since Lincoln’s death.”
“Have you got those flowers? Good, I want to throw them. General Meade’s men are coming.”
I pushed my way through the crowds. Only two blocks to the train depot. It might as well have been a dozen. My hat was knocked off. I dropped my portmanteau once and had to stop and get a better grip on the basket with Ulysses in it. He had gotten a hint of the excitement and was meowing, afraid. I shushed him and continued on.
It must have taken me fifteen minutes to go one block. My head reverberated with the sound of marching feet as a swarm of blue men marched on Pennsylvania Avenue. Out of the corner of my eye I saw their regimental colors snapping in the breeze, their musket barrels gleaming. The epaulets on the shoulders of the officers shone in the sun. Their faces were lean and brown, their eyes hard. I wondered what my daddy would have looked like if he’d come home from the war. Sword hilts flashed. Horses high-stepped to sharp commands. Mules, laden with equipment and wearing the blankets of their units, trudged along. The crowd cheered. “On to Richmond!”
“Don’t forget the Wilderness!”
“Three cheers for the Twentieth Maine!”
The sun was hot already. I trudged along. My train would leave at ten o’clock. I stopped and asked a dignified mustached man what time it was. He drew out a pocket watch. “Nine-fifteen,” he said.
I had time to rest. But where? Then I saw my place. On the nearby green lawns that sloped down to the Capitol building in the distance. The slope was crowded with schoolchildren and their teachers. But there was also a man there selling lemonade. I was parched.
I set my portmanteau, basket, and shawl under a tree. I purchased a cup of cold lemonade and took it back under the tree to watch the goings-on. The band music was bright and sassy. They were playing “The Girl I Left Behind Me.” A group of schoolgirls dressed in white and wearing red, white, and blue ribbons rushed forward up the slope carrying a long garland made of flowers.
“There he is. There he is.”
Who? I craned my neck and went up the slope to see. A gallant-looking officer with long yellow curls and a wavy mustache was leading the next contingent on a high-stepping horse.
“General Custer, General Custer! Hurray for General Custer!” the girls yelled while they ran right to the curb of Pennsylvania Avenue. Then they threw the flower garland at Custer.
Everything happened at once. Custer’s gloved hand went to his hat. Just as he was about to raise it, his beautiful horse got hit in the face with the flowers. It reared and neighed in terror.
Caught off balance, Custer did his best to reign his mount in. But the frightened girls screamed even more, adding to the horse’s fear. At the same time a gigantic snare drum boomed. The horse was out of control. He came charging right at the schoolgirls, down the slope. I saw Custer’s hat fly off, his blond curls whipping in the breeze. I saw the girls run. All but one.
She stood there, paralyzed, and the horse was coming right at her.
“Out of the way!” Custer was yelling. He mouthed the words, but the brass band drowned them out. I saw the wild look in his horse’s eyes and, without thinking, rushed forward and dived at the dumbstruck girl who stood there with her mouth open staring into certain death.
As my body hit hers I felt the wind knocked out of me. Together we rolled over on sweet spring grass, a tangle of dresses, arms, and legs. I felt a pain in my left wrist as I landed on it. Then I rolled over and my head reverberated like a snare drum as the back of it hit the ground, hard.
For a moment I couldn’t think. Everything went black. Then I was looking up into a bright blue sky through the leaves of a tree and all kinds of faces were peering down at me.
“Is she all right? Who is she? Did you see what she did? If it hadn’t been for her, Elvira would have been stomped to death.”
“Where is Custer? Does he even know what he almost caused?”
“He’s gone back to the head of his column. He’s a wild one. They say it’s typical of him. Did somebody send for a doctor?”
“Yes. Miss Chauncy went.” It was the girl I’d pushed aside. She stood over me. “I’m beholden to you,” she said. “You saved my life. My teacher has gone for a doctor.”
“Are you all right?” I asked.
She nodded. She was white-faced and tear-streaked, but all right.
I sat up, with difficulty. My head hurt. My wrist hurt. “I don’t want a doctor. I’ve got a train to catch.”
“I’ve found a doctor! Would you believe it! He was right over there on the edge of the slope. He has a bag and everything!” A woman in a white lawn dress with red, white, and blue streamers that made her look like a sailboat was coming toward us. I felt my face go as white as her dress. She was pulling someone along by the hand.
“I don’t want a doctor,” I said again. I started to get up but had to sit back down again.
“It’s all right,” he said softly, “it’s all right. Get her some water, somebody. In God’s name, Emily, I’ve been looking all over for you all morning. And then someone just came up to me yelling for a doctor and I came to help. I didn’t know it was you. My God, what happened?”
I started to cry then, and they were hard put to stop me. His voice did it. And his eyes. And the way his hands touched the lump on my head and picked up my hurt wrist. I had hoped never to see him again. “Oh,” I sobbed, “I’ve made a mess of everything.”
“You sure have,” Robert agreed, “but we won’t talk about it now.”
I sat there blubbering while he bound up my wrist. “I want my cat,” I sobbed. “Where’s my basket with my cat? If I lose Ulysses, I’ll die.”
The girl who claimed I saved her life ran and got my basket. Ulysses was crying fretfully. “He needs some water,” I told Robert. So Robert gave him some.
Then Robert made sure Elvira was all right. Her teacher insisted we exchange names. Robert gave her mine. And Uncle Valentine’s address. “It’s where Emily lives,” he said; “it’s her home. Come and see her.”