Free Absalom's Daughters by Suzanne Feldman Page B

Judith smiled at the morning. Cassie drove and Judith dozed. The car clattered and smoked. Winter fields became sparse pine forest, which gave way to scattered shacks. Shacks faded back into the trees, and the forest diminished. Now felled lumber, now rotten stumps, now a field. The landscape repeated itself. Were they going in a circle? Once in a while a stray cow or chicken stared at them from the middle of the road, too dumbfounded to run.
    The scenery interrupted itself once with a church in pieces on the side of a hill. The steeple sat on cinderblocks. All four walls leaned against one sturdy tree, looking like they had been sawed from some other building. Someone had dug a foundation. The sturdy tree and the four walls were right beside the road, and going uphill, the car went so slowly, they had plenty of time to examine the church as they passed.
    Judith combed out her hair with her fingers. “What church you go to back home?”
    â€œWe din’t go much, but when we did, First Baptist. Where’d you go?”
    â€œMissionary Baptist.”
    â€œThat little white one off Main Street?”
    â€œWasn’t little.”
    â€œWeren’t big neither.”
    â€œYou sing in your church?”
    â€œEver’body sing in church.”
    â€œNot deaf folks.”
    Deaf folks. How did Judith know anything about deaf folks and what they did in church? Were there any deaf folks in Heron-Neck? Not that she knew of, neither white nor colored. This was Judith bored. Judith making up anything just to pretend she knew what she was talking about. This was how she entertained herself. Was Cassie herself bored enough to care what Judith would say next? She concentrated on the road, though there was no traffic in sight. Was Judith busy trying to decide, like she was, if this trip was actually a good idea? They had no real plan and no idea how to get to Virginia, much less Hilltop—and Porterville. What if there was no Porterville? What if those were places Beanie Simms had made up? People paid him for the information, she was pretty sure of that, but what if following the railroad tracks was a wild goose chase? And even if they made it, then what? Would she turn white and leave Judith? And if Judith made it to Virginia, would Bill Forrest hand over whatever inheritance was left? He’d been gone for years, and the letter from Eula Bonhomme hadn’t said how much money there was. What if it was pennies? In the rearview mirror, dust rose behind the car, hiding the road to Heron-Neck. What would happen back home? With the albino boy lying in wait for colored girls or even women, was it safe for Lil Ma? Cassie should have brought Lil Ma; this was the mistake she’d made, the mistake lurking at the edges of Judith’s certainty. The three of them could have made it to Virginia, where, no matter what, there would be laundry to do. Should she turn around and head straight back? She wouldn’t escape a second time. She made a silent pledge that whatever she did, wherever she and Judith ended up, she would get Lil Ma to safety.
    They reached the top of the hill. Cassie pushed the clutch in to let the old heap roll down the other side at its own speed.
    â€œGive it gas,” said Judith. “Floor it. Like this.”
    She shoved her foot over the top of Cassie’s and pushed it all the way down. The car lurched, then surged. Wind gusted in, blowing their hair and coats, pushing out the smell of exhaust and rotting upholstery. As they picked up speed, Cassie opened her mouth to let the air fill it. The vibration of the road through the seat went all through her. Trees flashed by. Her stomach lifted. Judith let out a yell, and Cassie yelled too, into the wind, without words.
    *   *   *
    By sundown of their first full day, they’d reached a low line of hills and bare winter fields. On their right, the railroad tracks disappeared into the mouth of a tunnel; on the left,