Chapter 24

4:00 a.m.

The glow from the streetlamps below casts shadows against the walls. A pitchfork here, a sinister-looking ghost in a pointed hat there. I can hardly trust my eyes. The bed creaks. The other beds are empty now. Patients must have moved on some way or the other. Edward’s the only one left.

Hush.

It’s Jacob. He’s wearing shoes but I recognize his shuffle. “I hope you don’t mind, ma’am,” he says. “But I was in the room next door and thought I’d pay Edward a visit.” His lip is split. He smells of blood, sweat, and sweet mint.

“How you get busted up like that in the hospital?” I ask.

He looks at me like I don’t know more people get broken up in here than outside of here. “Officers had some questions they wanted to ask me.”

He’s close now. Breathing up all my good air. Wasting the little time I got left.

“Did you have answers?” I ask.

“That’s the thing. Seems like ain’t nothing I have to say, nothing they want to hear. All they want to know is if Edward is working with the railway to bust up the strike or if he’s working with the unions to strengthen it.”

I sit there rubbing the wood of the book. Tempe’s standing behind him. Can he smell her burning?

“Don’t you want to know?” he asks.

“I don’t see how it would make much difference either way,” I say. “He’s my boy, no matter what side he was on. And you can take the opportunity to remind me that my boy ain’t no boy like I don’t see he’s a full-grown man and I’ll take the time to remind you that no matter how old he is, he’s my boy.”

“Ma’am, I just meant, Edward’s made some decisions that only a man can make.”

“Like what?”

“Like changing his future.”

I look from him to the bandages they tell me is my boy. He’s under there somewhere, waiting.

“Changing his future? Or changing yours? See, if you or somebody put him up to some sort of plan to break the strike or start one, if he come up with it or didn’t, if he’s working for the union or against it, if he was aiming for the store or swerving away from it, my boy’s still going to die for it.”

“Then let him die a hero.”

“The death of a hero is no different than the death of an average man.”

“Average men are forgotten. Heroes aren’t.”

“I’m going to make the headlines.” It’s like sitting here all these years ago with Christian talking about spilling fire like blood through the streets. I’m blinking but I can’t stop seeing his face. If Sable hadn’t convinced him to stay in Grammercy, he wouldn’t have ended up lynched, swinging from some tree. He’d be alive now, laughing about hot-blooded men and the women that love them. Would he look at my boy and say, Just like his mama? Hot-headed. Would he be down there holding Lil’s hand, patting Gideon on the shoulder, staring into silence with Buddy and Franklin? Or out there raising hell with the police and the protesters? Maybe he would have led Edward into the riots.

Either way, we here now.

“Can I talk to him, alone?” Jacob’s asking. Tempe’s nodding yes.

I lean over and kiss Edward’s forehead. Tears stain the bandage. “I love you, son. Always will,” I say.

Jacob’s sliding the curtain behind me. I’m in Tempe’s arms. I feel her holding me up before I realize what it means. I’m holding her tight.

“Man,” he says, “you right about your mama. She’s a bird and a half. I see why you want to do right by her. I don’t know why you don’t want to let her in on nothing, though. Seems like she can handle the truth. If you want her to think this got something to do with the riots, I’ll go right on letting her think it. Police sure don’t seem to have no problem with it. Neither side do either. The union all riled up calling for the police to round up all the scabs, railways calling for blood and legislation, strikers going wild. They stealing trolleys and setting them on fire. This is the start of something big and there you are in the middle of it. You ought to see it. You in the papers and everything. Couldn’t have been me. You a hero, man, no matter how you want me to tell it.”

Tempe’s looking excited. She’s all lit up.

“No,” I say. “Not yet. Please.” I pull the screen away, push Jacob aside. I hold Edward’s hands tight. I’m thinking, Don’t go, don’t leave me, but I don’t say it. “Remember,” I say. I got my head to his mouth listening for breathing, words, something.

I’m still holding his hand when the doctor declares the time of death: 4:37 a.m. Lil’s there when I get back down to the waiting room. They all are: her, Gideon, Buddy, and Franklin, even Sable and the Mourning Committee. Picketers are gone to another march. The police decided Edward can’t cause no trouble, they’re off to another emergency. Other than us, there are only a few people on the streets this time of morning. I’m burning. I’m so angry that I’m surprised when I look down and see my feet don’t leave scorch marks on the road. There’s a high-pitch sound in my head, wailing. I cover my mouth but it ain’t coming from me. The chorus. They singing about saviors and warriors and heroes and wanderers. Somewhere, Edward and Tempe are singing together, arm in arm, all the way home.