Cincinnatus didn't argue, not any more. Arguing with a fool had always struck him as a waste of time. And Conroy sure as hell wasn't all that smart if he thought he could handle Luther Bliss. Cincinnatus had his doubts about whether Apicius Wood could handle Bliss if he had to. Apicius, he judged, had the sense not to try, but then Apicius really was pretty smart.
'Let me get the rest of your stuff,' Cincinnatus said. If he wasn't face-to-face with Conroy, he couldn't possibly argue with him.
The storekeeper wanted to keep on jawing, but Cincinnatus didn't have to play, not today he didn't. With Conroy's receipt in his pocket, all he had to do was finish the delivery and get out. He did exactly that.
As he drove back up toward the river, he really noticed how many walls and fences had FREEDOM! painted on them. The word had replaced the blue crosses and red-white-red horizontal stripes as the diehards' chosen scribble.
He didn't like what he'd heard about the Freedom Party. That put it mildly. The local papers said little about the outfit; these days, they did their best to ignore what went on in the Confederate States. But word drifted up out of the CSA even so, word spread on the black grapevine that ran alongside and occasionally overlapped the one the diehards used. None of that word was good. And now the Freedom Party had done better in the elections than anyone expected. That was not good news, either.
When he got home that evening, he told Elizabeth what he'd heard from Conroy. She nodded. 'White lady I clean house for, she was talkin' 'bout the same thing on the telephone. She sound happy as a pig in a strawberry patch.'
'I believe it,' Cincinnatus said. Kentucky had been taken out of the USA by main force at the end of the War of Secession. It had been dragged back into the United States the same way during the course of the Great War. A lot of Kentuckians-a lot of white Kentuckians-wished the return had never happened. Cincinnatus went on, 'The government ever lets people here vote for the Freedom Party, they ain't gonna like the votes they see.'
Elizabeth sighed. Part of the sigh was weariness after a long day. Part of it was weariness after living among and having to work for people who despised her the second they set eyes on her. She said, 'Reckon you're right. Wish it wasn't so, but it is.'
'Pa's right,' Achilles said cheerfully. 'Pa's right.' He didn't know what Cincinnatus was right about. He didn't care, either. He had confidence that his father was and always would be right.
Cincinnatus wished he had that same confidence. He knew all too well how many mistakes he'd made over the years, how lucky he was to have come through some of them, and how one more could ruin not only his life but those of his wife and little son. Slowly, he said, 'Maybe we ought to talk some more about pullin' up stakes, Elizabeth. We can do it. Don't need no passbook, not any more.'
'We got us a lifetime of roots in this place,' Elizabeth said. She'd said the same thing when Cincinnatus brought up the idea of leaving Covington earlier in the year.
He hadn't pressed her very hard then. Now he said, 'Sometimes the only thing roots is good for is gettin' pulled out of the ground. Sometimes, if you don't pull 'em out, they hold you there till somethin' cuts you down.'
Instead of answering directly, Elizabeth retreated to the kitchen. Over her shoulder, she said, 'Go set yourself down. Smells like the ham is just about ready.'
Sit himself down Cincinnatus did, but he didn't abandon the subject, as his wife plainly hoped he would. 'I been thinkin' about this,' he said. 'Been thinkin' about it a lot, even if I ain't said much. If we leave, I know where I'd like us to go. I been lookin' things up, best I can.'
'And where's that?' Elizabeth asked, resignation and fear mingling in her voice.
'Des Moines, Iowa,' he answered. 'It's on a river-the Des Moines runs into the Mississippi-so there'll be haulin' business off the docks. Iowa lets black folks vote. They let women vote for president, too.'
'I reckon they got women there,' Elizabeth allowed. 'They got any black folks there at all?'
'A few, I reckon,' he answered. 'There's a few black folks in just about every good-sized town in the USA. Ain't any more than a few very many places, though.' He held up a hand before his wife could say anything. 'Maybe that's even for the best. When there ain't very many of us, can't be enough for the white folks to hate us.'
'Who says there can't?' Elizabeth spoke with the accumulated bitter wisdom of her race. 'And Jesus, how far away is this Des Moines place? It'd be like fallin' off the edge of the world.'
'About six hundred miles,' Cincinnatus said, as casually as he could. Elizabeth's eyes filled with horror. He went on, 'Reckon the truck'll make it. They got a lot o' paved roads in the USA.' He pursed his lips. 'Have to pick the time to leave, make sure everything's all good and dry.'
'You aim on bringin' your ma an' pa along?' Elizabeth asked. Her own parents were both dead.
'They want to come, we'll fit 'em in some kind of way,' Cincinnatus answered. 'They don't-' He shrugged. 'They're all grown up. Can't make 'em do nothin' they don't take a shine to.'
'I don't take no shine to this myself.' Elizabeth stuck out her chin and looked stubborn.
'You take a shine to livin' here in Kentucky if that Freedom Party starts winnin' elections?' Cincinnatus asked. 'Somethin' like that happen, you'll be glad we got somewheres else to go '
That hit home. 'Maybe,' Elizabeth said in a small voice.
Something else occurred to Cincinnatus: if the Freedom Party started winning elections in the Confederate States, what would the Negroes there do? They couldn't run away to Iowa. They'd already tried rising up, tried and failed. What did that leave? For the life of him, Cincinnatus couldn't see anything.
Stephen Douglas Martin's eyes went from his daughter to his son and back again in something that looked like pleased be-musement. 'You don't have to do this on account of me, you know,' he said. 'If you want to go out and paint the town red, go right on out and do it.'
Chester Martin grinned at his father. 'You already say I'm too much of a Red. I don't even want to go out and paint the town green'
'We just want to spend New Year's Eve with you and Mother, that's all,' Sue Martin said, nodding vigorously. Chester's kid sister looked a lot like him, with sharp nose, green eyes, and sandy hair. She thought a lot like him, too, on labor matters and on a lot of other things as well.
'Besides, Pa,' he added, 'where the devil could I go in Toledo to paint the town red even if I wanted to? This isn't exactly Philadelphia or New York City.' Toledo also didn't boast the multitude of saloons and brothels that sprang up behind an army's lines to cater to the needs-or at least the desires-of soldiers briefly free from the trenches.
'Well, you've got me there,' his father answered. 'Yes, sir, you've got me there. Once upon a time, I used to know where all the hot joints were, but that was a while ago now. Don't look so much to go out and get rowdy, like I used to before I hooked up with your mother and settled down.'
From the kitchen, Louisa Martin called, 'What are you blaming me for now, Stephen?' Dishes rattled as she put them back into the cabinet. 'I'm almost finished in here. Whatever you're trying to pin on me, in a minute I'll be out there and you won't be able to do it.'
She was as good as her word. Her husband said, 'What I was trying to pin on you, dear, was settling me down. If you don't think you've done it, I'll go out and get drunk and leave you home with the kids.' His eyes twinkled. 'I'll probably beat you when I get back, too, the way I always do.'
'I don't know why you haven't quit yet,' Louisa Martin said with a pretty good martyred sigh. 'I'm all over bruises, and the police keep dragging you down to the station every other day.'
They both started laughing. Sue looked from one of them to the other, as if astonished her parents could act so absurd, and about something that would have been very serious had they been serious themselves. Chester said, 'Well, Ma, that's better work for the cops than most of what they do, believe me.'
'Hold on there.' His father held out his hand like a cop halting traffic. 'If we're going to have a happy New Year's Eve, let's see if we can manage not to talk politics. Otherwise, we'll just start arguing.'
'I'll try,' Chester said, knowing his father was likely to be right. He let out a wry chuckle before going on, 'Doesn't leave me much to talk about but my football team, though.'
'I wish you wouldn't talk about that, either,' his mother said. 'It's just as dangerous as going out there on the picket line.'
'Not even close.' Chester shook his head. 'The fellows on the teams we play hardly ever carry guns, the way the cops and the company goons do.'
'What did I say a minute ago?' Stephen Douglas Martin asked rhetorically. 'If you want to turn out editorials,
