The train tunneled into distant trees, leaving a drifting plume of smoke graying into the afternoon heat. Al turned away, felt the hole opening in his gut. “We better get moving if we intend to be in Independence before dark.”
Without asking if he wanted the support, Ezra reached for Al’s hand and placed it on his bone-thin shoulder for the walk back toward the wagon.
They rode in silence into town and through the alley to the rear of the store. Al backed the wagon up to the wide doors and helped Ezra and Wally load the barrels of coffee, sugar, tobacco, and rice. They topped the supplies with boxes of hats, gloves, parasols, and other niceties—items from New Orleans—that were in constant demand in the college town.
“I got your newspapers.” Cora presented the bundle. “The Boston paper’s on top.” She walked back toward the store shaking her yellow-blonde head. “It’s old news by the time it gets here,” she mumbled over her shoulder.
“Thanks, Cora.” Al grinned as he called after her. “I’ll let you know if I read anything that’ll make us worry about Tobias being in Boston.”
She waved her hand back at him and kept walking.
Ezra climbed over the load like a nimble-legged spider and flopped beside Al on the wagon seat. “Miss Cora sure don’t like you reading all those newspapers.”
“She likes to torment me.” Al snapped the reins, and the mules leaned into their harness, the trace chains creaking with the weight of the wagon. “She says I’m nosey for reading everybody’s news. I keep telling her it’s important to know what’s happening in the world.”
Ezra smoothed his hands over the bundle anchored between them. “Pappy brought us a paper every week.”
Al tried to keep the surprise out of his voice. “Did he read it to you?”
“Sometimes. Mostly he had me and Ella read to him.”
“He was a smart man. That’s why so many people looked up to him.”
“He learned reading and numbers and all about plants from his pa. Pappy planned to take his pa’s place as overseer of his master’s gardens in Mississippi. But his master died, and they sold Pappy away to Mister Thomas Affleck.”
“Did he ever see his family again?”
“Naw. Ol’ Affleck brought Pappy here to his Glenblythe Plantation.”
“One time, I heard Affleck give a talk at Baylor about the nursery he operated on his place.”
“That’s where Pappy took care of his plants.”
Al stared at the ragged child and wondered how the family went from Affleck’s sprawling plantation in the northwestern part of the county to that hovel in Camptown. “Affleck was famous all over the South. Planters still use his plantation record book.”
“Yep. Pappy said planters liked ol’ Affleck because he wrote how to manage slaves. And he knew how to grow the best crops.” Ezra began riffling through the newspapers. “Pappy said life got harder after the war. Ol’ Affleck wanted to keep bossing like he still owned slaves. Mama said they didn’t like her.” Ezra leveled serious eyes at Al. “Do missuses hate beautiful women?”
How am I going to answer this kid without insulting his mama? “I guess some are jealous of pretty women.”
Over the clang of the traces and the rattling of the wagon, Al heard Ezra sigh. “That’s why we came to Brenham. Affleck passed, and Mama said we had to go.”
Al looked at the black head bent over the papers. “I wouldn’t mind a bit if you’d like to read to me. When Tobias was about your age, we took turns reading to each other when we made this trip.” He’s probably changing trains in Hempstead by now. Is the distance easing his anger?
“Here’s the New Orleans Picayune. Funny name. It says work on the channel is moving faster than Congress expected.” Ezra held the paper for Al to see. “What’s that about?”
“A man has claimed he can build dikes and jetties along the Mississippi and narrow it down to make the water flow so fast that it’ll clean out all the debris that keeps choking the mouth of the river.”
“Can he do it?”
Al grinned at the eager face staring up at him. “Don’t know. He’s so sure it’ll work that he’s asking eight million dollars if it works and nothing if he fails. New Orleans needs to get big ships up the river to its port, so they’re hoping it works.”
“That’s gambling ain’t it?”
“You bet it’s gambling.” Al felt his spirits lifting and his laughter bubbling up from a place that he’d almost forgotten. Toby had been the same sort of curious boy, always questioning.
“Look at this one. The Galveston Daily News says a Negro, Norris Wright Cuney, wants to be mayor. Do you think that’ll happen?”
The wagon had moved away from town. The road toward Independence stretched between fields of dried up wheat separated from clusters of milk cows by fences made of gnarly bois d’arc heavy with green balls of fruit. Cattle crowded under oak groves so dust-covered that the leaves hung gray and tired.
“I don’t know. Lots of forces are trying to get Democrats back in power. So far, thanks to your father, there are colored Republicans serving as deputies and county clerks and meat inspectors. Al looked down at the intense black eyes and noticed sweat beading in his hair and creasing down his cheek. “Reach behind the seat and scoop a dipper of water over your head to cool yourself off.”
Ezra let the water run across his face and down the front of his faded blue shirt. “I like to feel the breeze on my head. This trip is going to be the best I’ve ever made.”
“I need to rest a spell. Would you mind driving the mules?”
Ezra sat up straight and reached for the reins. “I’d be proud to.”
Al read the papers aloud, barely registering the words, unable to escape the crush of Tobias’ seething anger.
Ezra sat erect as a poker, only glancing occasionally at Al when some piece of news struck him as especially noteworthy. The wagon lurched over ruts and rocks poking up through the road, stirring dirt that had been ground to fine powder in the months since the rain. The dust drifted in gritty waves to cling to the sweat running down their faces and into their shirts.
They crested a rise just as the sun cast its last red glow across the handsome three-story Baylor Female College standing like a virtuous citadel a safe mile west of the male campus. The road broadened as it approached the pristine town.
“Lordy. Look at those big buildings all spread out.” Ezra pointed, his eyes darted from one to the next as they neared the center of town.
“That’s Baylor University where Tobias went to school.”
“He got to go in all those big buildings for his studies?” Ezra shook his head and stared at the scene. “You suppose Negroes will ever go there?”
“I expect so. One day, things will ease up.” Would Tobias call it a lie, encouraging a boy black as coal dust to imagine being allowed in one of those buildings unless he entered to clean or repair some broken fixture?
Al took the reins as they entered town and when he turned the team onto the square, Ezra twisted and turned to stare at the homes and business houses lining the street. Al smiled at the bright young man at his side. “That’s Water’s Mercantile.” He pointed at the two-story building commanding most of one side of the street. “We’ll pull around back to unload before it gets completely dark.”
Elizabeth Barren shoved open the back doors while Al backed up the team. Elizabeth was as tall and thin as Cora was short and stocky. “You barely made it before I left to cook my supper.” She set one black leather boot into the wagon and scooped up a box of hats in each arm.
Ezra hustled over the seat and began rolling a barrel of coffee toward the entrance. When Al introduced them, Ezra said, “You let me and Miss Elizabeth do the unloading.”
Elizabeth narrowed her eyes, examining Ezra. “Why didn’t you bring Hébert? This boy’s not big enough to haul all these barrels.”
Ezra rolled another barrel, and if he felt the strain, his face didn’t show it. As he walked back out to the wagon, he glanced at Elizabeth before he grabbed the next barrel.
“I hope you’re paying him well.” She barely suppressed a grin of acceptance as they watched the boy manhandling the barrel into a corner of the storeroom.
By the time they drove to the livery stable, the moon lit the street like a hundred lanterns. Al welcomed Ezra’s shoulder on the walk back to the store. Elizabeth had made up a tray of cheese and crackers. She handed Ezra a little bucket of tomatoes. “I’ve watered the vines every morning and night to keep them producing. You’ve got the last of the season.”
Al held a lamp and directed Ezra to a table loaded with underdrawers, pants, and shirts for boys. “Get you a change of clothes. We’ll have a good bath and sleep like babies tonight.”
“Really? I can’t pay.”
“It’s a bonus for your hard work.”
Ezra rubbed his fingers lightly over a red, long-sleeved cotton shirt and some denim pants. “I ain’t never had new store-bought clothes.”
When they went upstairs to the apartment, Al opened the door onto the porch and stood back, watching Ezra step gingerly toward the railing to look down and then across the moonlit hills. “I’ve never been so high up. It’s like getting close to heaven.”
A wave of grief made him turn away from the child. It had been such a short time since Tobias was struck with delight over something new. Now he was gone, maybe forever.
Hunger and the smell of Al’s bacon frying and turnip greens boiling drove Ezra inside. He ate as much as a teamster and then made several trips hauling water upstairs for their baths. “You mean for me to go first?”
“Sure. I’ll lie down on the bed and turn my back to give you privacy.” Al unwrapped a bar of Johann Heínrich Keller soap, a best-seller in both stores. “Use this to scrub yourself from head to foot. Take as long as you need. But if I go to sleep, wake me so I can have a turn.”
“I ain’t embarrassed so much. It’s just that I’ve never been first.”
“You’ve got it all to yourself. We’ll pour your water down the back stairs, and I’ll get a fresh tub all to myself.”
Ezra peeled off his shirt and britches, which lay like oiled rags on the floor.
Al dozed off to sleep listening to Ezra chatter about how he was going to smell better than a barber shop. When he finally roused to Ezra’s gentle tugging at his arm, he saw that the child had washed his old clothing.
“I figure they’ll be dry by morning and I can wear them home. Save the good for church.”
When Al refilled a tub of hot water, Ezra said, “I used up most of your smelly soap.”
“I’ve got plenty.” By the time Al pulled on clean drawers and emptied out his bath water, he found the child, smelling like a rose garden, sound asleep in the middle of the bed.
Al woke before daylight thinking about Toby sleeping with his head lolled back against the rattling train car window, wind blowing soot on his face. The kid could sleep through a cattle stampede. They were already counting items that needed to be ordered from New Orleans when Elizabeth unlocked the store’s front door.
“I see you don’t need my help with the inventory.” She tilted her head at Ezra. “You count mighty good.”
“My pappy taught us numbers. Me and Ella read and do numbers better than anyone in our school.”
“Now that’s something.” Al patted Ezra’s shoulder. “I’m hiring him to help with inventory when we get back to Brenham.”
“You’d hire me for that?”
“You bet. You count as well as anybody I know, and you get on your knees and up on ladders to reach things quicker than most folks.”
When they got back to Brenham, Ezra used part of his pay to buy the last of the store’s tomatoes, cheese, and a slab of bacon. Then he hurried to the back of the store and picked up a bar of Johann Heínrich Keller soap. “I think my ma and Ella will love a good bath.”
The following morning, he arrived still wearing his old clothes but smelling as sweet as a barbershop and grinning like he owned one. “I’m ready to start counting.”
They spent the next two days working together. Wally and Cora warmed to the boy, even offered him a slice of cake.
At the end of the second day, Ezra stood awkwardly at the front counter clutching his pay. “I wish you were going to be around all the time so I could work for you.”
“I do, too. You’re a fine employee.” Al watched the boy walk off down the street toward home, and an ache of loneliness and foreboding settled over him.
Wally stood by the window watching Ezra disappear between the wagons and carriages grinding through the late afternoon dust. “I hope he can find work that’ll be half as good as you’ve given him. I told him I’d hire him to sweep.”
“Hire him regularly,” Al said before he climbed the stairs to his quarters and stretched out in his drawers on the bed next to the window even though there wasn’t a breath of air. As the evening wore on, he listened to the creak of wagons and the mutterings of drunks coming out of Jake Neu’s “Hole-in-the-Wall” down on Ant Street. Another thing he should have warned Toby about—drunks. Especially women hustling him and then cleaning out his wallet. If he made all the connections, he should be nearing New York—that is if he got through Chicago. Al rolled over and tried to count the stars he could see through the window, anything that would take his mind off his son.