Free The Reservoir by John Milliken Thompson Page A

to get out of his brother. He knew that going away to college in Richmond would be different from going off to boarding school. He was fairly certain that both Nola and Lillie would miss him—what he did not know was whom he would miss more. Three days before he was to leave, Lillian had departed for her second term at Bruington. She’d stood on tiptoe and laid her head briefly against his chest. He’d started to pat her head, then stopped himself, his hand suspended awkwardly in the air.
    On his own departure day, Aunt Jane kissed him on the cheek. “You’re such a man now,” she said, beaming proudly at him, her eyes crinkling into crescents; then she turned away a moment so she wouldn’t cry. She adjusted his bowler and necktie. “Don’t neglect your health in the city,” she said, gripping his shoulders.
    He shook his brother’s hand, endured another squeeze from his aunt, and got into the cart. His father came just in time to see him off and give him a pocket edition of Shakespeare quotes, which he already owned, telling him it was from his mother who was not feeling well. Inside was a folded ten-dollar bill that Tommie knew better than to try to refuse.
    He had not been to Richmond since the trip with his father, and the city had been growing ever since. It was after New Orleans the largest city in the South, and it was on the verge of change. The reluctant Confederate capital was still in some ways a war-scarred city, holding on for dear life to its past, with memorials popping up in cemeteries and public squares, and one-legged veterans swinging down the streets on crutches. The trauma of the war years was not easily shaken off. But the bitterness and despair the city had endured under the watchful eye of the conquerors was gone, and the city Tommie was entering was a changed place. Its ironworks were again preeminent in the South, its marketplaces hummed with life, and in nearly every way it was on the verge of industrial modernity.
    He caught a horse-drawn omnibus heading west on Broad. At seventeen years old and on his own, he felt constrained in a new way, having to act the part of a man, like the dignified gentleman on the seat beside him. The man had nodded to Tommie when he boarded near the capitol, as though he knew Tommie were green, as fresh from the country as first-cut alfalfa. At the same time, Tommie was so caught up in his excitement at being in the city he could lose himself for blocks at a time in the passing show out the window: all the fine houses, the carriages clipping smartly along.
    He took the bus to the end of the line, two miles from the station. The driver helped him with his trunk, and then he was alone, standing there not quite knowing what to do with himself. He began to drag his trunk toward the largest building he saw. A young black porter with a hand cart came running to help him. “Richmond College?” the boy asked him. Tommie said yes, trying to act as though he knew his way around. The boy nodded and said, “Ryland Hall, straight ahead.”
    It was a massive new building, Second Empire-style, mansard roofs crowning ornate towers. It was what college should look like, and Tommie liked that it had the same name as his minister back home. The boy stayed with him until he found his room, then Tommie gave him a nickel and thanked him. Tommie’s roommate was already there. He introduced himself as Tyler Bagby from Essex. He had unkempt dark wavy hair, an open collar, and a droll smile about him, as if he found the entire world an amusing curiosity. He also had a sharp angular face, shadowed with evening stubble that made him look older than he was. After a few minutes of light conversation, Tyler put his hands behind his head and leaned back. “I think we’ll get along just fine, Tommie,” he said. “I hope you don’t mind if I call you that.” Tommie shook his head. “And you should call me Tyler. Bagby sounds too boarding school, and Mr. Bagby too formal. Help