Page 22 of Where the Rivers Merge
Migration describes periodic, large-scale movements of populations. For example, birds migrate from areas of low or decreasing resources to areas of high or increasing resources, usually for food and nesting locations. The ACE Basin is a summer sanctuary for many migrating songbirds.
1917
The school year had ended, and at last it was time for Mama, Lesesne, Covey, and I to pack up for the journey back to Mayfield. Mama’s parents had gifted her a new Model T town car, and this would mark our first long-distance trip in the automobile. I wondered at the sleek curves and polished exterior but knew the horseless carriage was yet another sign that our world was evolving. When I arrived in Charleston for school, there were more horse-driven carriages than automobiles on the streets. In only three years the number of autos had more than doubled. It seemed the horse-driven carriage was an anomaly. The impact of this reality on my father’s dream for the Marsh Tacky horses did not escape me. Like in so many other ways, my father clung to the past, ignoring the changes inherent in the future.
The trip to Mayfield in an automobile would take several long and arduous hours on uneven, dusty roads. I imagined the rhythmic clickety-clack of the railroad cars Heyward and Hugh were enjoying whenever we jolted on the numerous potholes and ruts. Thank heavens Mama had hired a driver who knew the way because there were no road signs once we exited the city limits. We passed miles of pine forests and saw few shops and homes. The long stretches of road offered no place for a car to break down. It showed foresight for Mama to carry her own additional gasoline.
Every time we came upon a horse-drawn carriage, we had to slow down lest we spook the horses. We pretended not to hear the mumbled slurs and nasty looks as we passed. Here and there we spotted migrating birds overhead or roosting in trees. Purple martins, swallow-tailed kites, prothonotary warblers, summer tanagers—they were all like us, intrepid travelers returning from our wintering grounds.
My heart swelled with relief and pride when at last I spotted Mayfield through the dense foliage. Covey and I clutched hands in excitement as we drove up the beloved allée of oaks, which were bowed as though in greeting. The automobile’s engine shattered the pastoral quiet as it roared up the driveway and came to a creaking, belching stop.
The front door swung open, and Daddy came bounding out. His face was freshly shaven, his silver and blond hair neatly combed, clearly excited at our—or rather, Mama’s—return.
“Welcome home!”
he called, rushing down the stone stairs of the entrance.
The driver hurried to open our door. Covey and I scrambled out, eager to be free of the noisy contraption and to set foot on Mayfield’s soil. I smoothed out my traveling outfit, wanting to appear my best for my father. It had been months since I’d seen him, and I hoped he would notice how grown-up I had become. “Daddy!”
I called out.
He frowned as he took in the sight of the Model T.
Mama’s gloved hand emerged from the auto to take hold of the driver’s. Her head appeared, hat in place, and she blinked in the sunlight before she gracefully descended.
“Hello, Rawlins,”
she said, smiling sweetly.
He lit up when he saw Mama. They shared a knowing look that spoke of their connection, and something more I was too young to understand. Then his expression changed. Daddy was never good at disguising his emotions. His eyes were fiery as he took in the mass of black steel.
“You bought an automobile?”
His tone was incredulous.
Covey and I cowered near the trunk of the car and exchanged worried glances, while Lesesne leisurely climbed from the interior then stretched, his hands on his back, moaning audibly. He stopped and looked sharply up, hearing the tone of Daddy’s voice.
Mama appeared unfazed. She shifted her hat. “Technically my parents bought it. But yes, it belongs to me.”
Mama looked up at him and smiled. “A birthday present.”
“You know very well,”
Daddy said in a strangled voice, “that the damn horseless carriage is the death knell for my efforts with the Marsh Tackies. Our future.”
Mama slowly shook her head as a pitying smile played at her lips. “Oh Rawlins. Leave it to you to always bet on the wrong horse.”
Daddy’s eyes flamed and seeing his hands bunch into fists at his thighs I thought, for an instant, he might strike her. He’d never gone that far, but Mama was deliberately taunting him.
Lesesne cast a sly glance at our parents and said in a low voice. “Does this mean we should all go to our rooms?”
He scoffed, turned, and headed toward the house, ignoring Daddy.
I watched him casually walk off, stunned at this sign of how much Lesesne had matured in the past months. The withdrawn, unsociable boy was gone.
“Welcome home!”
Wilton walked up with his long-legged gait. His rugged hand, lifted in a wave, was testament to his efforts as manager of the estate. He was dressed in his usual dark pants and white cotton shirt. I relaxed, knowing Wilton always had a calming effect on my father.
He stopped and crossed his arms while his gaze took in the automobile, its black metal now splatted with mud. He rubbed his jaw and shook his head slowly. “Looks like that horseless carriage was run hot and put up wet. Don’t you worry, Missus. We’ll see to getting it cleaned for you.”
“Thank you, Wilton,”
Mama said, seeming pleased to see him. “You’re looking well. But I won’t delay you. I know I’m not the lady you’re here for.”
At that, she turned to indicate Covey.
Wilton’s weathered face broke into a wide grin when he spied his daughter. Covey ran across the gravel into his arms as we looked on. In truth, I felt a bit jealous of their obvious affection, in such sharp contrast to whatever was going on between my parents. My daddy hadn’t even bothered to say hello to me before they started right in. Seeing me standing alone by the Model T, Wilton waved me over. I sprinted to his side, and he included me in his hug.
“I best take Covey home now,”
Wilton said “Give y’all some time to be together, after such a long absence. Nice for a family to be united.”
Turning to me he added, “Speaking of long absence . . . I know a certain horse that’s been pining away to see you again.”
“Captain! Where is he?”
Grinning, Wilton pointed to the barn. “Out in the paddock.”
I surged forward.
“Eliza!”
my mother called.
I stopped and turned.
“A young lady does not run off like that,”
she said in a voice of iron. “You will go inside and change into your riding outfit. And pay your respects to Clementine. Then you may visit your horse.”
I reined in my enthusiasm. The hard-learned lessons of the past years in Charleston pulled like a harness. “Yes, ma’am.”
I waved farewell to Covey, then walked with as much grace as I could muster up the stairs to the threshold, aware of eyes on me.
I turned to look back, taking in the view of Mayfield. I breathed deep, feeling a material change take over me. Ladylike behavior be damned. I was home.