The All-True Travels and Adventures of Lidie Newton_ A Novel - Jane Smiley [234]
"Why not?"
"’Cause I’s sittin’ heah."
"Well, get down, then."
"I don’ know ’bout ponies and hosses. I’s afraid of ’em."
"I’m not. I’ll do it."
"I cain’ watch you work. Someone maht come ’long an’ see you workin’ and me sittin’."
"The pony’s got to drink. What would Helen do?"
"Helen wouldn’ think of de pony."
"Well, the pony’s lathered up, and there isn’t a breeze, so whatever happens, the pony’s got to drink."
Lorna looked all around and, seeing no one, lay down in the grass beside the road, half under a bush. We exchanged a glance, then she said, "You tek de pony down to de stream. Ifn any mans comes ’long, I’ll be groanin’ and moanin’, and den you bring me back some watah, too. I’ll pull my legs up like I done been took bad wid de cramp."
And sure enough, when I was down at the stream, letting the pony drink his fill, a cart went along, and Lorna moaned and groaned, and the man got out of the cart and tried to stir her up, and so she moaned and groaned all the louder, until I led the pony up from the stream and he saw me, waved, and got back into his cart and drove away. When he was gone and I had hitched the pony back up, she said, "I didn’ know him. I never seen him. I reckon he’s new in dese parts. But dat war a close call. Everbody ’round heah knows I is Massa Richard’s gal." Her confidence seemed total. I thought she must have learned from her previous attempt, and I imagined her working things out very carefully in her mind and just waiting for someone like me, an opportunity, to happen along.
As we got back into the pony cart, I was a little chastened by all the things I didn’t know.
Now I allowed the pony to walk for the rest of the afternoon, and pretty soon the traffic thickened and I began to see houses closer together. We had gotten to the outskirts of Independence. I tried not to glance at Lorna but to look straight ahead as if I knew my destination. I smiled and waved to anyone who seemed interested in me, and Lorna kept her head down, afraid of meeting anyone who had seen her at Day’s End Plantation. All the same, I saw her glancing covertly here and there, perhaps at the seething business that was Independence, Missouri, in those days, even on Sunday. For one thing, there was the old business of outfitting settlers for the west. But now, in addition, there was the new business of war. The business of war was, first and foremost, a business of men gathering in doorways and on street corners. Every space seemed to be filled with men, who were either talking among themselves or listening to others talk. I say talk, but I mean shout and yell and argue. Not every man was gathered like this; plenty were riding through, driving through, pushing themselves through, getting wagons loaded or unloaded, but these men were on the alert for what the other men were doing. The gatherings drew men into them. Most of these men drifted off, but they couldn’t stay away for long— there was too much to be said, shouted, yelled. And there were no women anywhere. I figured they were staying indoors unless the war forced them out. That was the way it had been in Lawrence in the winter. There was also that customary Missouri sound, the regular bang and pop, always startling, of guns being shot off as an expression of feeling or opinion. I was careful to refrain from looking at Lorna so that we were well into town before I noticed the expression on her face. She looked terrified. I was so amazed that I stared at her and, finally, whispered, "What’s the matter?"
She said, "I ain’ nevah seen it lak dis."
"How often have you been here?"