May the Road Rise Up to Meet You: A Novel by Peter Troy Page B

Sayin’ they ain’t never seen even a
white
man who got his kind of skills when it comes to runnin’ the levees. Buildin’ them, even. Any kinda carpentry.
    That was his Daddy
. Dunmore said to the attendant between slugs from the flask.
An’ I figger he musta taught th’boy plenny. Ain’t dat right?
    Micah decided he didn’t want to speak any words to this man when a simple nod would do. Which was what he gave him. But then Dunmore, with no hesitation or sign of exertion, flicked the back of his right hand hard across Micah’s face. Just like he was swattin’ a fly. Only Micah felt his cheek burn instantly. And his eye began to tear up from the force of the blow.
    When I ask you som’nin you better ansa me
. He muttered angrily.
    Yessuh
. Micah replied.
    And the attendant laughed. Took another swig. Then stepped out of the compartment.
    An’ don’ go thinkin’ you gonna get my Daddy’s name neitha
. He said when the attendant was gone.
My no-’count brother done that. He gone an’ give ’em all my Daddy’s las’ name. So now they’s a whole buncha black-as-night niggas wit’ the name Dunmore. Well, ain’ gonna be one more. You gonna stay just what you was when you was listed in the property back ’ere. You jus’ ‘Micah, a slave.’ Jus’ like ’ey say on ’at property list
.
    And Micah didn’t say anything at first. Then thought better of it.
    Yessuh
.
    CHARLOTTESVILLE, VIRGINIA
    OCTOBER 19, 1853
    Micah had only ever heard about South Carolina and Louisiana before. He wasn’t sure if the long train ride had taken them any closer to Louisiana. Or Mississipp’, where his Daddy was headed. But he knew that they couldn’t be anywhere near Charleston. Not after a full day ridin’ that train.
    His Daddy had told him that they’d see each other again someday. But Micah couldn’t find that kind of hope within him. Even from the first moment his Daddy said it. For the first time in his life, not believing his Daddy. Not believing that the Lawd was watchin’ over them the way Daddy always said. And that got him to thinking that maybe he was less like his Daddy than he’d always thought. And maybe more like Dunmore. Angry. Disbelievin’. Like the folks Momma said th’Devil got holda and never let go. So maybe that’s why God had sent him off to be with Dunmore. ’Cause they was two of a kind.
    Charlottesville was much smaller than Charleston or Richmond had been. Still, it seemed a wild and grand place compared to
Les Roseraies
. And Dunmore reveled in his return as they walked from the train station. Down along a few major streets. Micah still chained at the wrists. Dunmore leading him by the elbow like he was showing off a prized sow. He didn’t speak to many people. Only nodded sternly at a few as they passed. As if to say, that’s right. This one’s mine. ’Til they came upon a saloon and Dunmore unlocked one of Micah’s wrist irons. Fixed it to the hitchin’ post out front. Went inside and announced that he was buying a round for all his friends. To celebrate his new investment.
    And for the next two hours or so, Micah sat along the storefront curb. His left arm stretched out above him, chained to the hitchin’ post. While every so often Dunmore brought men to look him over. Made Micah stand up and turn around every time. And Dunmore would tellthe man all about the plans he had. And how he was a man of property now. Until finally, Dunmore walked out by himself with a full bottle in his hand. Went into the butcher’s shop across the street. Came out of there with a large, newspaper-wrapped packet. And they walked the rest of the way through the town. Out to an area with several small farms all connected to one another. A mile or more outside the busiest part of town. When they came upon Dunmore’s single-story house. Not much bigger than the slave cabins back at
Les Roseraies
. Though this one had four glass windows and a chimney.
    You know how t’cook?
Dunmore asked.
    Nosuh
,