A New Beginning: My Journey with Addy

After a simple supper, the three of us settle at the table. Mrs. Walker sews while Addy and I bend over our schoolwork. Addy writes a word on a slate, and hands it to me to read. I pause before every word, not because I don’t know it, but because it’s hard to see in the dim light of the single candle that threatens to go out every time a draft slips through the window. I understand why the Walkers wish they had a lamp instead.

I haven’t stopped thinking about our earlier conversation about Addy maybe leaving school. An idea comes to me.

I ask Addy to read the short list of words for me, and she rattles through every one without a mistake. I tell her what a good reader she is, glancing at her mother as I say it. Mrs. Walker agrees at once, saying Addy’s poppa would burst with pride to see her reading and writing, since school in freedom was exactly what he always wanted for her.

Addy catches my eye, and I can tell the same thought has landed in both our heads. As casually as I can manage, I mention that Addy could teach Esther her letters the moment she reaches Philadelphia, so her sister would already know how to read before she even starts school. Mrs. Walker gets up to stoke the coals. But as she does, she gushes about how Addy will teach her to read first, then Esther.

With a sigh, Addy leans close and whispers that she isn’t going to drop out of school, since she’s got a job to do right here in her family. I let out a breath, relieved, because that’s exactly what I hoped she’d say.

When Mrs. Walker comes back to the table, Addy asks what she thinks Esther is doing that very moment. Mrs. Walker guesses Esther is probably drifting off to a lullaby in Auntie Lula’s arms. She starts singing softly, as if singing to her daughter states away. Addy joins in, her voice twining around her mother’s, and I close my eyes and listen.

Their singing makes me think of Mom tucking me in every night back home, dropping her book bag at the door and tiptoeing in to whisper “Yoo-hoo, moon” to let me know she’s there. Without meaning to, I whisper “moon” out loud, and Addy stops singing to ask what I said. My voice wobbles as I admit that I miss Mom. Mrs. Walker’s answer is gentle. She says of course I do, and Mom misses me too, wherever she is. I shut my eyes and let Addy and her mother finish the lullaby together.

Bedtime comes next. As Addy and I undress, I notice her cowrie-shell necklace again and think about how it ties her to family she never even met. I touch Grandpa’s coin through my pocket and wonder about Charley’s own parents, and what he did once the war finally let him go home. I decide I want to hear every one of Grandpa’s stories again, and really listen this time. He’s always said history is just people. Now I finally get it.

Addy falls asleep almost instantly, but I lie awake until Mrs. Walker blows out the candle and climbs into bed too. Sleep still won’t come, because I know it’s time to go home. I slip out from under the covers, dress quietly, and dig through Addy’s school bag for her slate. By moonlight through the garret window, I write her a note saying I’ve gone to find my own family, that she shouldn’t worry, and that she and Mrs. Walker gave me hope I’ll never stop being grateful for.

I tiptoe out of the garret and down into the stairwell, easing the door shut behind me. Alone in the dark, I pull the coin from my pocket and hold it tight. “Yoo-hoo, moon,” I whisper, the same way Mom always does for me. “I’ll be home soon.” I rub my thumb over the worn numbers, and the stairwell dissolves into spinning cold.