A Girl and a Map

 [Prompt: Write a story about hope.]

by Susan Hunt

Fila sat on the wide wooden steps of the farmhouse, a tattered and dirt-smudged map of the Southern United States resting, unseen, on her lap. The two mules, Jack and Mike, stood patiently in the dusty yard, hitched to a wagon loaded with the barest of supplies for this move to Texas. Everything else had been sold, and now only what was left -- the mules, the wagon, the heat, the very air itself -- seemed to be waiting for Fila and her mother to abandon their past to a future both unknown and uncertain.

Fila knew she should be studying the map, memorizing the route from her birthplace in Girard, Alabama, to her uncle’s farm in Plano, Texas. But her mind was blind to the paper in her hands. She sat, unmoving, and stared down at lines and faded words. They meant nothing to her, and she grieved the paper they were printed on.

This was her father’s map, a good father’s map, and she wondered if he would have led them west had he lived. A moot question now. Her mother saw no future here in Alabama without a husband and income to manage 40 acres of cotton, not to mention a heavy equipment business that thrived during the War of Northern Aggression, a business doomed after the restless peace of loss descended on them. Her father’s skill at building roads and rail lines for the Confederacy meant an end to the business and its owner.

Now, the land was sold and along with it, equipment, livestock, and the house that had been home to Fila since birth. With her finger, Fila traced the route on the map, wondering where this move would lead beyond the miles a wagon train would travel. What good could possibly come from this uprooting of body and soul? From the brokenness of their hearts? Everything but a grave left behind?

Fila’s mother, although grieving and anxious about the future, had assured Fila that this move was necessary and not entirely without hope. Their uncle in Texas was a good man who had befriended Fila’s family on more than one occasion. “We will trust the goodness of others and Uncle Ned’s promise to help us,” her mother said with conviction.

Fila was not so convinced as she stared at the map, giving it her full attention now. They would start in Girard, meeting up with the wagon train in Columbus, just across the river. From there they would cross Alabama, Mississippi, and Louisiana, then into east Texas, turning north at Dallas and on to Plano. The wagon boss estimated covering 10 miles a day, God willing and the weather held. How far was it, anyway? 800 miles? 900? 80 days minimum. That’s almost three months in a Conestoga wagon. Dear God, how would she ever survive such an ordeal? Yet, here they were.

Fila folded the map and stood to greet the young man hired to drive the wagon into her future. As she held out her hand to greet him, she said, “I hope you know the way.” Clasping her hand, the young man replied, “Yes, ma’am, I do. Your hope is not misplaced.”