Free The All-True Travels and Adventures of Lidie Newton by Jane Smiley Page B

severely at the men and women, as if you are ruminating over some soon-to-be-deserved punishment, and you’ll fit in perfectly. You mustn’t be eager to befriend the porters and the draymen and the serving maids, or to make it up to them that they live in bondage. It’s one thing to be an abolitionist passing through Missouri, and it’s quite another to be an abolitionist passing through Missouri with twelve Sharps rifles."
    He nodded, then pulled me more tightly against him. My tone of course was light, but I wasn’t happy by any means about our baggage.
    He nailed the lid back on the box. An hour later, I watched it being carried aboard the Independence with as much apparent indifference as if it contained the "harness" that was written on the side.
    Travel up the Missouri was slower and more distressing than travel down the Mississippi. I had plenty of time to ponder the rifles Thomas was transporting to his friends in Kansas, people I had not met but whom I’d imagined as a small group of aspiring farmers whose ambitions ran to a few head of cattle and horses, a few acres of corn and flax. That they shared his abolitionist feelings I’d taken as evidence of benignity and charitableness—my sister Miriam, after all, though peppery and uncommonly plainspoken, was the kindest person I’d ever met, the only truly kind person in our family, if kindness could be defined as eagerness to do good in things large and small whether that goodness accrued to one’s own benefit or not. When Roland Brereton made of abolitionists great demons of aggression whose first delights were stealing Negroes and killing their owners, and, if that wasn’t possible, forcing the Congress and the states to pass laws that would do the same thing with less fun about it, I thought of Miriam and of Roger Howell or of "poor Dr. Eels," who suffered so for his beliefs. I’d thought Roland saw the dark shadow of his own self in those supposed abolitionists. It was Roland, after all, who said from time to time that folks were going to bring slavery back to Illinois, mark his words, and everybody would be the better for it, not only the poor niggers. After one of these speeches, Harriet would roll her eyes and whisper, "He doesn’t mean that! He’s harmless as a baby!"
    But now I’d seen those rifles, rifles I had heard of, that were made in New England and coveted by everyone for their pinhole accuracy. It’s a fact that no bride knows what layers are in her groom, that every wedding is a lottery, too. All weddings are alike in that. But it was also true that with my money from the sale of my father’s house in my pocket, I’d seen what I wanted to see in Mr. Thomas Newton. Those rifles that I didn’t like to think of were part of my bridal portion, and I dared not speak about it, even to Thomas.
    Thomas, himself, continued agreeable and affectionate. We shared a tiny stateroom off the ladies’cabin, and each evening he came to me about ten o’clock. We also made it a point to take our meals together, but the customs of travel made it difficult for us to begin experiencing any prolonged marital intimacy. I did see that apart from me, Thomas seemed not to be establishing much acquaintance on the boat. When I asked him about it, he smiled and said that at one end of the men’s saloon, the gamblers were fleecing the emigrants, and at the other end, there was much praying going on, and it was interesting to observe, he said, which of the prospective settlers regularly made their way between the two enterprises. But apart from these observations, he had some books to read, and spending his daylight hours sitting beside the aft rail of the hurricane deck improving his time in this quiet fashion would prepare him best for the weeks and months of hard work to come.
    There were a dozen or so ladies taking passage in the ladies’ cabin, and many more taking deck passage below. We were a widely assorted bunch, and there were a few I might have