“Then I don't see why the good Lord gave us brains, then; if that's how things are, Alvin Miller!”
“Al's going east to Hatrack River to. be an apprentice blacksmith,” said Pa. “I'll miss him, you'll miss him, everybody except maybe Reverend Thrower is going to miss the boy, but the papers are signed and Al Junior is going. So instead of jawing how you don't want them to go, kiss the boys good-bye and wave them off.”
If Pa'd been milk she would've curdled him on the spot, she gave him such a look. “I'll kiss my boys, and I'll wave them off,” she said. “I don't need you to tell me that. I don't need you to tell me anything.”
“I reckon not,” said Pa. “But I'll tell you anyway, and I reckon you'll return the favor, just like you always done.” He reached up a hand to shake with Measure, saying good-bye like a man does. “You get him there safe and come right back,” he told Measure.
“You know I will,” said Measure.
“Your ma's right, it's dangerous every step of the way, so keep your eyes open. We named you right, you got such keen eyes, boy, so use them.”
“I will, Pa.”
Ma said her good-bye to Measure while Pa came on over to Al. He gave Al a good stinging slap on the leg and shook his hand, too, and that felt good, Pa treating him like a man, just like Measure. Maybe if Al wasn't sitting up on a horse, Pa would've roughed his hair like a little boy, but then maybe he wouldn't have, either, and it still felt grown-up, all the same.
“I ain't scared of the Reds,” said Al. He spoke real soft, so Ma wouldn't hear. “But I sure wish I didn't have to go.”
“I know it, Al,” said Pa. “But you got to. For your own good.”
Then Pa got that faraway sad look on his face, which Al Junior had seen before more than once, and never understood. Pa was a strange man. It took Al a long time to realize that, since for the longest time while Al was just little, Pa was Pa, and he didn't try to understand him.
Now Al was getting older, and he began to compare his father to the other men around. To Armor-of-God Weaver, for instance, the most important man in town, always talking about peace with the Red man, sharing the land with him, mapping out Red lands and White lands– everybody listened to him with respect. Nobody listened to Pa that way, considering his words real serious, maybe arguing a little, but knowing that what he said was important. And Reverend Thrower, with his highfalutin educated way of talking, shouting from his pulpit about death and resurrection and the fires of hell and the rewards of heaven, everybody listened to him, too. It was different from the way they listened to Armor, cause it was always about religion and so it didn't have nothing to do with little stuff like farming and chores and how folks lived. But respect.
When Pa talked, other folks listened to him, all right, but they just scoffed sometimes. “Oh, Alvin Miller, you just go on, don't you!” Al noticed that, and it made him mad at first. But then he realized that when folks was in trouble and needed help, they didn't go to Reverend Thrower, no sir, and they didn't go to Armor-of-God, cause neither of them knew all that much about how to solve the kind of problems folks had from time to time. Thrower might tell them how to stay out of hell, but that wasn't till they was dead, and Armor might tell them how to keep peace with the Reds, but that was politics except when it was war. When they had a quarrel about a boundary line, or didn't know what to do about a boy that always sassed his ma no matter how many lickings he got, or when the weevils got their seed corn and they didn't have nothing to plant, they come to Al Miller. And he'd say his piece, just a few words usually, and they'd go off shaking their heads and saying, “Oh, Alvin Miller, you just go on, don't you!” But then they'd go ahead and settle that boundary line and build them a stone fence there; and they'd let their smart-mouth boy move on out of the house and take up as a hired man on a neighbor's farm; and come planting time a half-dozen folks'd come by with sacks of “spare” seed cause Al Miller mentioned they might be a little shy.
When Al Junior compared his pa to other men, he knew Pa was strange, knew Pa did things for reasons known only to himself. But he also knew that Pa could be trusted. Folks might give their respect to Armor-of-God and Reverend Philadelphia Thrower, but they trusted Al Miller.
So did Al Junior. Trusted his pa. Even though he didn't want to leave home, even though having been so close to death he felt like apprenticing and suchlike was a waste of time– what did it matter what his trade was, would there be smiths in heaven?– still he knew that if Pa said it was right for him to go, then Al would go. The way folks always knew that if Al Miller said, “Just do this and it'll work out,” why, they should do the thing he said, and it'd work out like he said.
He had told Pa he didn't want to go; Pa had said, Go anyway, it's for your own good. That's all Alvin Junior needed to hear. He nodded his head and did what Pa said, not cause he had no spunk, not cause he was scared of his pa like other boys he knew. He just knew his pa well enough to trust his judgment. Simple as that.
“I'll miss you, Pa.” And then he did a crazy fool thing, which if he stopped to think about it he never would've done. He reached down and tousled his father's hair. Even while he was doing it, he thought, Pa's going to slap me silly for treating him like a boy! Pa's eyebrows did go up, and he reached up and caught Al Junior's hand by the wrist. But then he got him a twinkle in his eye and laughed loud and said, “I reckon you can do that once, Son, and live.”
Pa was still laughing when he stepped back to give Ma space to say her good-bye. She had tears running down her face, but she didn't have no last-minute list of dos and don'ts for him, the way she had for Measure. She just kissed his hand and clung on, to it, and looked him in the eye and said, “If I let you go today, I'll never see you with my natural eyes again, as long as I live.”
“No, Ma, don't say that,” he told her. “Nothing bad's going to happen to me.”
“You just remember me,” she said. “And you keep that amulet I gave you. You wear that all the time.”
“What's it do?” he asked, taking it from his pocket again. “I don't know this kind.”
“Never you mind, you just keep it close to you all the time.”
“I will, Ma.”
Measure walked his horse up beside Al Junior's. “We best be going now,” he said. “We want to get to country we don't see every day before we bed down tonight.”
“Don't you do that,” said Pa sternly. “We arranged for you to stay with the Peachee family tonight. That's as far as you need to get in one day. Don't want you to spend a night in the open when you don't have to.”
“All right, all right,” said Measure, “but we at least ought to get there before supper.”
“Go on then,” said Ma. “Go on then, boys.”
They only got a rod or so on the way before Pa came running out and caught Measure's horse by the bridle, and Al Junior's, too. "Boys, you remember! Cross rivers at the bridges. You hear me? Only at the bridges! There's bridges at every river on this road, between here and Hatrack River. "
“I know, Pa,” said Measure. “I helped build them all, you know.”
“Use them! That's all I'm saying. And if it rains, you stop, you find a house and stop, you hear me? I don't want you out in the water.”
They both pledged most solemnly not to get near anything wet. “Won't even stand downstream from the horses when they spurt,” said Measure.
Pa shook a finger at him. “Don't you make light,” he said.
Finally they got on their way, not looking back cause that was awful luck, and knowing that Ma and Pa went back into the house well before they was out of sight, cause it was calling for a long separation if you watched a long time when folks were leaving, and if you watched them clear out of sight it was a good chance somebody'd die before you ever saw them again. Ma took that real serious. Going inside quick like that was the last thing she'd be able to do to help protect her boys on their way.