Into the Free (28 page)

I don’t say anything. I leave my heavy luggage right there and go in to check on Firefly.

“Bump took her,” Janine shouts behind me. “Said he needed her as backup. They always bring a couple of extras. Never know what might happen.”

I can’t believe my luck. Just when I think all the awful things that can possibly happen in my life have happened, it just keeps getting worse. Here I am stuck in an empty rodeo lot with a heavy suitcase jam-packed with every last thing I call mine, and not a single place to go.

“Why don’t you go meet them?” Janine suggests. “They always stop for lunch. Mr. Tucker won’t put the horses on the stock cars no more. Says it makes them skittish. All that screeching from the tracks. Loud doors sliding shut. He don’t care for it none. He worked out a deal with the tractor folks and rigged up trucks to haul the horses. That means they gotta move slow. They take long breaks to water the stock. Fill up the tanks. He’ll call me when they stop, just to check on things. I’ll tell him to wait for you. If you leave now, they won’t have to wait long. You’ll make much better time than them.”

I spy my pickup in the lot. I have always kept it at the arena, so as not to embarrass Diana. Bump taught me how to drive it, but I’ve never driven out of town. Just up dusty county roads that turn to mud in the rain. How in the world would I find my way from Iti Taloa to Dallas? “I don’t have a clue as how to get there,” I confess.

“No problem,” Janine says. “I’ve been there a million times. Once you meet them in Monroe, you won’t have to worry. Or, you could always hitch a train.”

Not to worry? All my life, I have wanted to leave Iti Taloa. I’ve been hoping to hop a train and get out of this town for as long as I can remember. But I never imagined I’d have to leave all alone. Nothing seems scarier to me now than heading out into the world all by myself. Babushka said I was Krasnaya now. Strong and red. But am I really? I still feel yellow as yellow can be.

“It’s time, Millie. You can do this,” Janine says. She tries to help me with my suitcase, but the weight nearly topples her to the ground. “What in heaven’s name do you have in this thing?”

“Everything I own,” I say. You can tell she thinks I’m kidding, but of course, I’m not.

By the time I hit the highway, my hands are trembling. Every bad ending I can imagine races through my head and, in a way, if I’m really honest with myself, that’s exactly what I hope will happen. That I’ll just drive off and never be seen or heard from again. I roll through the options, playing them out in my head. I could lose control and swerve headfirst into a tree. I could drive a little too close to the edge of the next bridge and tumble into the swampy bottomlands. I could give the wheel a hard jerk, flipping the truck across a farmer’s field.

These thoughts are scaring me, and I’m shaking. I pull the truck over on the side of the road, trying to get the courage to start the engine again. To keep moving forward. To not take my own life, as my mother did.

A farm truck is headed my way. The back is filled with hay. It slows, and the driver pokes his head out. “You okay?” he asks.

“Sloth?” I say. It is Sloth. I have no doubt. It is the same man who taught me to fish and hunt and gather eggs. The same man who has appeared at unexpected times throughout my life. And now I know for sure, he is the same man who caught me when I fell from that tree. A man coming back from the dead to save me? I remember the stained-glass image of the resurrection. Could it be?

“Ma’am?” the man says. “You need some help?”

“No, thank you,” I answer, sure I’m speaking to my old friend. I take a risk. “Was it you?” I ask. “Did you catch me when I fell from my tree?”

“Wasn’t your time to go,” the man says. Then he drives away, and I feel a sudden sense of peace. I look at the bridge in the distance and weigh my options. I close my eyes, and I can hear it. The sweet, sweet sound of the trees. They are singing, “It is spring. It is spring. We will save you. It is spring.”

I get out of the truck and open Jack’s suitcase. I find Mama’s box of secrets. With the sun at my back, I go through each item individually, remembering the many stories that led me here today. I may never have all the answers to the mysteries in the box, but I’ve got enough for now. Enough to weave together a story of my own.

I close the box, and for the first time in a long time, I pray. At first, the words won’t come. But then I think of Bump’s father’s prayer, simple and grateful. And Mabel’s prayer in the kitchen, easy and natural, as if she was talking to a friend. I pretend I am a little girl again. I am sitting in Sweetie’s limbs, talking to Sloth. He is digging worms, and I still believe in miracles.

Dear God, Mama always taught me to believe in You. I’ve tried. But most of my life, I feel like I’ve had to handle things on my own. Without any help from You at all.

I don’t understand why You’ve let these things happen. Why men like Bill Miller continue to have their way, when people like the Andersons struggle so much.

I don’t understand why You didn’t save Mama. Why You didn’t change Jack. But Mabel has told me the answers will come. That if I keep believing, it’ll all make sense in the end. I’m trying, Lord. But I need help. I can’t do this alone. I can’t survive this world without You.

I end my prayer and bring the box back into the cab of the truck. I start the engine. I drive. I drive until I fall into a trance, much like the way I feel when I’m working with Firefly. Strong. Krasnaya. Red.

I roll down the window and sing every song I remember as I search for the Louisiana line. With each refrain, I work myself away from the pain. I let it all go. Jack. Mama. Bill Miller. One mile at a time. Fear gives way to courage, as I find my own way out of Mississippi.

Before I know it, I am pulling into a roadside restaurant and fill station. The parking lot is packed with a caravan of pickup trucks rigged to haul the best of Mr. Tucker’s horses. The first person I see is Bump, waving his hat in the air. He runs out to greet me. “Millie! Look, guys! It’s Millie!”

I feel such relief, I jump out of the truck and throw myself into his arms. And that’s when I feel, for the very first time in my life, truly safe. And happy. And free.

He pulls his hat down to cover our faces and tries to kiss me. I don’t expect it. I tense up, and he pulls away. I give him a look to say I’m sorry, not knowing if I’ll ever be able to wash away the smell, the feel, the damage Bill Miller left behind. If I’ll ever again be able to like the way it feels to be touched.

“Two steps forward. One step back,” Bump says.

I exhale.

Mr. Tucker and the guys are all excited to see me. But Firefly may be the happiest of all. “I brought your tack, just in case,” Bump smiles. “I had a feeling you’d be coming.”

Bump has always believed in me. Even when I didn’t believe in myself. Even when I was at my worst, he saw only the best in me, and he was determined for me to see it too. Now I know for certain that Mabel was right. There’s nothing in the world like having someone love you for who you really are. Looking at your heavy baggage and leaning down to whisper in your ear, “You’re perfect.”

The guys pile into the fill station for a bite, and I follow. I haven’t had anything to eat in two days besides muffins and lemonade, and the smell of fried chicken makes my stomach growl. Bump notices my hunger and says, “Better get in there before it’s all gone!” I agree and head for the door, but he doesn’t follow. I look back but he’s already headed for the horses, ready to take care of the stock.

I order two fried chicken plates to go and head outside to meet Bump. He’s nowhere to be found. Mr. Tucker comes my way. “Looking in the wrong direction,” he says, pointing behind the restaurant to a pasture. Bump has unloaded the horses and moved them to a lake for fresh water.

I look for a spot in the field to have a picnic. Mr. Tucker clears his throat. I sense he has something to say. “I appreciate you letting me come with y’all, Mr. Tucker. I hope it’s not too late for me to compete.”

“Glad to have you with us, Millie. No trouble at all.”

He tugs at his mustache and lights a cigar. “I ran into your grandmother yesterday,” he says.

I think of Oka. “Jack’s mother?” I ask, hopeful I’ll finally get the chance to meet her.

“No, no. The Reverend’s wife. Sister Applewhite.”

“Oh,” I say, unable to hide my disappointment.

“I told her you were working with us now. Told her to drop by sometime. Hope that’s okay.”

“Sure,” I say, knowing it won’t make a bit of difference. She won’t bother coming to the rodeo, and that’s fine with me.

“She wanted me to give you something. I’ve got it out here, in my truck.”

I follow him, wondering why after all this time my grandmother wants to acknowledge I exist. Why she decides to reach me through Mr. Tucker, instead of Diana.

He reaches across the seat and pulls out an oversized envelope tied with string.

“I’ll be over here, if you need anything,” he says, walking out to the pasture to meet Bump.

I sit on the seat of his truck and open the envelope. Some pictures fall out. Photos of Mama as a girl. The first is of Mama at a church function, pig-tailed and smiling in front of a cross. I assume it is her baptism. Her parents stand near her. She has a Bible in her hand. Another shows her as a toddler in her mother’s arms, holding an Easter basket and an egg. The last shows Mama a bit older. With Bill Miller. They are standing close. Engaged.

A note is included with the photos. It is written formally, in small black cursive letters, tilted with a hard hook to the right. “Maybe there is no such thing as forget,” I read, “but I think it is time to forgive.”

Attached to the short message, my grandmother has added one more important note. A letter from Mrs. Oka Reynolds. It is faded. Across the yellow paper, the envelope is addressed to Mrs. Sarah Applewhite, Mother of Miss Marie Applewhite.

Inside, the letter reads:

Dear Mrs. Applewhite,

I hear my son intends to marry your daughter, Marie. I extend my warmest wishes to you and your family. I thank you for giving him a place to call home.

With Best Regards and Most Sincere Appreciation,

Mrs. Oka Reynolds

I flip back to the envelope and notice a return address.

34 Creekside

Willow Bend, Mississippi

I am without words. I now know how to find Oka. I may finally have not one but two grandmothers in my life. I look at the photos again and read the letter three times in a row, realizing that Jack is not so different from me. That all Jack ever wanted was a family. A place called home.

Bump’s voice shoots across the pasture, “Millie! Millie Reynolds. Watch this!” And there he is, coming across the lake on the back of Scout, the palomino stallion. Scout’s head lunges forward with each deliberate stroke through the water, as Bump waves his hat in the air and shouts: “Marry me, Millie!”

Mr. Tucker laughs, hollers out from the pasture, “Girl, you gonna have a wild ride with that one.” I leave the chicken dinners and my grandmother’s package on the seat of Mr. Tucker’s truck. I race out to meet my gentle cowboy.