by Penn Gates
She shakes her head at the insanity of humans—the human male, in particular—and approaches the hole. Cash is already inside, and from the receding light, she realizes this is not just a cubby hole. It's a fairly large chamber made of more boulder-sized rocks. As she wriggles through the opening, Cash shines the flashlight on a wooden door set into the far wall.
When he hears her drop to the dirt floor, he twists around and holds the flashlight beneath his face. He grins at her, then raises his eyebrows in a silent question.
Nix decides to satisfy his curiosity rather than tell him he looks like a trick-or-treater on Halloween night. “We’re under the front porch so I'd guess that door leads to a tunnel running straight to the root cellar.” Then she remembers a snippet of family history. “Most of the St Clairs were fervent abolitionists. This could have been a stop along the Underground Railway.”
A look passes between them as they both reach the same conclusion at the same time. “This would come in handy—if we’re ever attacked,” Cash says.
Nix nods. “Hey Michael,” she calls through the hole, “Get a couple more flashlights, would you? Also a broom.” And then, because she realizes that she totally forgot he was still down here until she needed something, she adds, “Hurry up. You gotta come see this place. It's so cool.”
Michael doesn't answer, but she hears him heading upstairs, presumably to get what she's asked for. It was Michael who stood with me when there was nobody else to count on, she thinks. Just because Cash doesn't need things explained to him—he’s obviously had military training—is no reason to drop Michael back into a slot marked ‘Mennonite younger brother.’ He never wanted that, and he's never going to settle for it again.
She turns back toward the hidden chamber. Today has been a day for discovering secrets of all sorts, that's for sure. She has the kind of gut feeling she used to get when bits and pieces of evidence started to come together. Assemble them correctly and you get the true picture. But of what?
Chapter 13
“Wakey-wakey,” Nix coos into Brittany's ear. “Time to start our special relationship.”
Brittany whimpers in her sleep and tries to pull the covers over her head.
Nix glances around the crowded bedroom. Margaret and Mary were up hours ago to stoke the stove and start the biscuits for breakfast. Emma and Lizzie, too, have dressed, made their beds, and headed downstairs. How could the princess have slept through all that? And why did they let her?
She reaches out and yanks the quilt off Brittany. It slides to the floor. “Oops,” she says, while Brittany slowly sits up and rubs her eyes. “Making the bed this morning might take a little extra effort.”
“So—no time to waste!” Nix claps her hands together. “We're behind schedule already." She throws a bundle of clothing at the girl. “Look what I've brought—overalls, just like mine! We can dress like BFF's!”
“These are huge,” Brittany mumbles.
“Well, Gramps was a big guy, but he sure liked his OshKosh overalls for dirty work. I'm sure you will, too, once you get used to them.”
“What dirty work?” Brittany squeaks, with an expression of distaste. “I told you I don't like to get dirty.”
“You won’t—the overalls will. See? That’s what they're for." Nix puts her hands on her hips. “I'm trying so hard to be nice, Brit. Don't make me regret it.”
“What are we going to be doing?” Brittany falters, as she steps into the folds of denim and fastens the clasps. She looks comical. Pathetic. Like the kid in that old Charlie Chaplin film.
Nix hands her a piece of rope. “Tie this around your waist. And roll the pants legs up or you'll break your neck on the stairs.”
Brittany is near tears, but Nix is not moved. Feeling humiliation is not the same as being in pain. A little humility is good.
“Hurry up,” she urges. “We're gonna check out whether the tunnel in the basement connects to the root cellar." She looks Brittany in the eyes to make sure she catches her reaction. “Cash is waiting for us. Won't that be fun?”
Brittany actually colors. She slowly ties the rope around her waist like it's her noose for a hanging.
Nix can't resist. “Hey, I was planning on having you help me in the root cellar, but if you'd rather go down in the tunnel with Cash, that's OK with me.”
Brittany gives her a dirty look. “There's no need to be crude,” she says.
Nix acts confused. “Crude? I don't know what you—Oh! You thought I meant—Brittany! How could you think I meant that?”
Brittany sweeps out of the room with an attempt at injured dignity, that given her outfit, just looks ludicrous.
“Too bad you missed breakfast,” Nix says from behind her on the stairs. “But if we hurry, maybe we can be done before lunch.”
Nix pauses on their way out and yells into the basement, “Hey Cash! We're finally ready to get the show on the road.”
She can barely hear his response. He must already be in the hidden chamber under the porch, maybe even in the tunnel they hope connects to the root cellar. Communication is going to be a problem, but she has a solution when she spots Peter and Martin coming from the chicken coop with a basket of eggs.
“Make your egg delivery and then come back outside,” she tells the two boys. “I have a job for you.”
“What do you want us to do?” Martin asks, always eager to help, especially with a grown-up chore.
“I need a relay system to send a message from Cash, who's down in the basement, to me out in the root cellar.”
“Sure,” Peter says. “Where do you want us?”
“Well, your post is here,” Nix says, indicating the corner of the house, “And Martin, you stand at the top of the basement steps.”
She glances at Brittany. “Brit will be over by the root cellar door.”
“What's going on in the basement?” Peter wants to know.
Nix puts a hand on each boy's shoulder and pulls them closer to her. “It's top secret,” she whispers. “Don’t tell anyone about the work in the cellar. Can I trust you to keep your mouths shut about this whole job?”
The boys nod solemnly.
Nix glances up at Brittany who's examining a hangnail with a frown. “That means you, too, princess. Tell no one about the—you know.”
Brittany nods. “But what's the big deal?” she whines.
“I'll tell you later,” Nix says impatiently. “Martin—first message to Cash—tell him to give me 10 minutes to get in position. Got it?”
Martin nods and takes off running.
“Don't break your neck on the stairs,” Nix calls after him.
George had installed a padlock on the root cellar door last autumn, soon after Nix arrived and realized that their main stock of food was sitting where anyone who understood how a doorknob works was free to help themselves. As she opens the lock she realizes there has to be a way out from inside—just in case. She makes a mental note to have a deadbolt installed instead of a simple padlock.
She turns and looks at Brittany. “Well, come on—Cash is waiting. I need you to help move some stuff so I can get to the wall.”
“I don't want to go down there. It's dark.”
Nix pulls the flashlight out of her back pocket. “Get down there. Now.”
Brittany takes a huge gulp of air, like she's going underwater and steps inside. “I can't see anything,” she says, panic in her voice.
Nix quickly locates the kerosene lantern and lights it. “Gramps always meant to run electricity down here, but he never got around to it." She holds the lantern out over the stairway. “Turns out that would have been a waste of time.”
Nix points impatiently. “Help me move those sacks and barrels. Then go signal Peter that I'm ready on this end.”
Nix notes that Brittany can work hard and fast when she understands the payoff. “OK,” she says finally. “Up you go, into the fresh air. But Brit—keep your mind on what’s happening. If a stone falls on me, I'll be looking for payback.”<
br />
Nix pulls a hammer off one of the loops sewn into the overalls, and gauging the center of the back wall, she taps the mortar around the stone. For a couple of minutes all she hears are distant voices relaying a message. Finally she hears a faint tapping from the other side.
Brittany calls down, “Cash says to stand back. He's going to break out some mortar and try to shine a light through the hole." She sounds interested in spite of herself.
Nix steps back a few paces and stares at the solid stones of the wall. Will Cash be able to break through? It takes awhile, but Nix sees a bit of flaking and then more, as the mortar starts to crumble. Then it stops. A second later she sees a pinprick of light from the other side.
“Brit! Send word, he's through and it's the right spot.”
“Can I see?”
“There's really nothing to see, at the moment. Maybe later, when it's done. I'm coming up myself now." Nix reaches for the lantern hanging on a nail and heads outside.
“Stick around, Brittany. Because as soon as I talk to Cash, you and I have something else to do.”
Brittany's face takes on that pouty look, so Nix adds, “Or maybe I should take you with me when I go down to look into that big hole you made yesterday—just so you don’t wander off.”
“No, that's all right,” Brittany says hastily. “I promise I'll sit right outside on the porch.”
“We're not working outside any more today. You might even like what we're going to do. Now go wait for me in the kitchen—and give Margaret a hand while you're at it.”
“Breakin’ through won't be a big problem,” Cash tells her when she joins him in the basement. “Mortar gets stronger with time, but after a century, it begins to get weaker." He shines a light on the space he's made between two stones. “See how powdery it is?”
“How long will it take?” Nix squints at Cash in the dim light. “This is a great winter project, but it's almost planting season. Maybe we should put this on hold.”
“I thought of that,” Cash says, “But this is just as important as gettin’ crops in the ground." When Nix doesn't respond, he adds, “That's my opinion, anyway.”
“Look,” he continues as they work their way back down the tunnel. “How about this? We can knock a few rocks out, make a hole big enough to crawl through. That'll do the trick for an escape route in case we need it. Once the plantin’ is done, we can widen the hole into a real doorway. It'll need bracin’, but I’ll sketch out the measurements and George can knock it together.”
“Actually, it sounds like a good plan, but you still won't have the time for awhile.”
“Jason and Freddie need to learn a few new skills,” Cash says. “I’d say they've about mastered shovelin' shit out of the barns. Knockin’ a hole in a wall should be a concept they can wrap their heads around—and Jason can blow off some of that hostility he tries so hard to hide. After I get 'em started, I'll go spell George on the tractor. He's been out there since first light.”
“Lucky you. I'll be getting on with my Behavior Modification 101 course.”
Cash grins. “You're right. Anything is preferable to that.”
◆◆◆
Nix steps off the porch into the cool night and sucks the cleansing air deep into her lungs. She'd spent all afternoon in the attic with Brittany where the atmosphere was dusty and drowsy warm, even after she’d pried open the small, high windows.
At first while they'd worked, Brittany kept up a steady litany of complaints, like a singer warming up to hit the high notes of a full-on operatic whine. Nix had known in a very short time that if she actually listened to the words coming out of the brat's mouth, she was going to lose it and help the princess escape from the attic by kicking her down the stairs. Instead she forced herself to concentrate on listing the items they uncovered, and allowed herself to imagine this cavernous space cleaned out and used as a sort of common room, with bookshelves and comfortable chairs.
There was so much space in this house. The second floor of the new wing off the back of the original house was divided into finished rooms. It had been sealed off for years since the St Clairs had stopped breeding large families to work the land. God knew what was in there, but there was no need to have people piled five to a bedroom when there was space available at the cost of a little effort.
Brittany's words cut through her dream of a household with more space and privacy. “Why are we wasting time sorting old junk when there's other important jobs to be done?”
Nix blinked. Actually, it was a valid question, and she realized she'd neglected to explain to Brittany what the search was all about.
“Take a break,” she told Brittany. “I'm going to show you something.” Nix pulled Sarah's diary from the small chest and handed it to the girl. “While you're resting, read this—and then tell me what you think.”
As she'd continued to move boxes, Nix watched Brittany. The moment she closed her eyes, break was over. But the girl remained glued to the old diary, speed reading over the repetitive parts, as Nix had, then slowing down and lingering on.
“Do you really think you're related to one of the Salem witches?” Brittany asked in a tone of awe. “That would be totally, freaking amazing!”
“The important thing is to find that herb book,” Nix responded. “We're in trouble if somebody gets sick and we can't locate the medical supplies we need.”
Brittany stared at her. “Use weeds and stuff instead of pills? Ugh!”
“Here's a fun fact, kiddo,” Nix snapped. “The medications used today—like digitalis for heart attacks—were actually herbal remedies known for a long, long time. Modern science just found a way to synthesize the chemicals in a laboratory.”
“No way!”
“Way!” Nix mimicked. “So get off your butt and help me dig. We're looking for a big book, like an atlas. You find it and, and—”
Brittany stood waiting expectantly.
“—and I'll put you in charge of all these cool old clothes. Whatever you want to do with them.”
“Deal!” Brittany squealed.
Now, thankfully, the day is over and Nix is determined to find some peace and quiet before trying to catch a few hours of sleep. The full moon rides high in the night sky, bathing everything below in unearthly blue light. She's learned, from Sarah's diary, that the time of the full moon was looked upon as best for planting. Farm families would often be out in the fields half the night getting seeds into the ground by its glow.
The thought leads her down to the edge of the newly plowed field. She feels almost euphoric at the smell of the rich, dark earth. She kneels down and fills her hands with it, squeezing it between her fingers. To have gotten even this far is a kind of miracle.
“Miss St Clair—”
She jumps up and spins around. “You might have let me know you were out here a little sooner. I could have shot you, George. You know better than to sneak up on me like that.”
“I was not sneaking,” he says, with injured dignity. “It would never be in my mind that you would be carrying your gun in this peaceful night.”
“It’s peaceful,” she agrees. “Until it isn't.”
The moonlight gives George's face an otherworldly pallor that looks perfectly natural on him, Nix thinks sourly. “So what's up?” she asks aloud. “Did you want something?”
“I want to talk to you,” George says hesitantly. “And it is hard to find you alone.”
“Hmm,” Nix mutters noncommittally. Why does he have to spoil a rare moment of tranquility with his preachiness?
“I am sorry I was getting so upset yesterday,” he says unexpectedly. “I did not understand what you were doing until Cash explained it to me.”
Oh Christ, this should be good, Nix thinks and waits to hear more, but George is silent.
“Well, don't keep me in suspense here,” she prompts.
“He told me about the good cop-bad cop thing,” George says, regaining his enthusiasm. “It makes so much good sense. You scare her, and then
I make her feel better.”
Nix makes a mental note to point out to Cash that George hasn't watched a thousand reruns of Law and Order, and therefore has only a hazy idea of what he's talking about.
“That's really not how it works, George. The good cop-bad cop routine is used to question suspects. First, the bad cop scares the shit out of the perp. But then the good cop acts all friendly and helpful so the perp cooperates with the lesser of two evils.”
Even in the dim light, Nix can see the confusion on George's face.
“Don’t believe everybody in the world is just like you, George. That's like saying since all mammals share common traits, it's OK to pet a tiger the same way you'd pet a lamb." She stares at him sadly. “It gives me no pleasure to disillusion you, but there are people who see goodness as a weakness—and they will use it against you.”
George shakes his head. “You are talking about criminals—and animals. Brittany is just a scared girl.”
Nix is starting to feel cornered. She isn't qualified to counsel George on either ethics or teen-age crushes.
“Listen, the only thing Brittany's found to be scared of since she arrived is me. The rest of you let her get away with shirking her duties and feeling sorry for herself. How, exactly, does that help her? Nobody likes her. Nobody respects her. Hell, she doesn't even respect herself! How could she? She's got no skills, no purpose. She's like a baby who cries and screams until someone gives it what it wants.”
George is silent.
“But she is pretty—I’ll give her that,” Nix says, maliciously.
“That is not important for what we are talking about,” George says stiffly.
“Oh right,” Nix says, cocking her head to one side. “I have no idea where that idea came from. No upright young man would ever notice something so superficial." She laughs. “Here's a final thought for you. The results of a person's choices don't vanish with forgiveness, asked for or given. We all have to accept consequences and learn from them or we'll keep making the same mistakes forever. That's reality, brother, whether you like it or not.”
