“It is so good to see you again, Katie!” said Aunt Nelda. “I’m glad you had a safe trip.”
She glanced about.
“Where is Mayme?” she asked.
“She’s at the back of the train,” said Katie, pointing along the track. “They made her ride in a Negro car.”
“I can’t imagine such a thing,” said Aunt Nelda as they started walking toward the back of the train. “There is no segregation like that here in Pennsylvania.”
“Well, there must be in North Carolina and Virginia,” said Katie. “We talked to each other after the first stop yesterday, but the conductor got upset with us and threatened to put us off the train. So when we got on this morning, we went to separate cars and haven’t seen each other since. It would have been a lot more fun if we’d been able to be together, but at least we’re here now.”
They reached the end of the train and glanced around looking for Mayme. Most of the people were moving across the platform toward the station. By then no one else was getting off the train. A conductor, though not one Katie recognized, stepped down onto the platform from one of the cars and walked toward them.
Aunt Nelda approached him.
“Excuse me,” she said, “where is the Negro coach?”
“Ma’am?” he said with a puzzled expression.
“The car with the blacks in it,” said Katie.
“I’m sorry, miss,” said the man, “I’m not sure what you mean. We have no Negro coach on this train.”
By now Katie was thoroughly confused. She glanced about in every direction, expecting Mayme to appear any moment. But slowly the platform continued to empty of people.
“Is it all right if I go look inside the train?” she asked.
“Anything you like, miss,” said the conductor. “This train’s not going anyplace till morning.”
“I’ll walk back toward the front,” said Aunt Nelda, “—give me your carpetbag. I’ll carry it and meet you back at the front.”
Katie stepped up through the open door into the last coach of the train and slowly wandered through it, looking for any sign of Mayme.
But the car was empty.
She opened the door and passed through into the next car. A young black man was picking up paper and sweeping the aisle.
“Excuse me,” said Katie, “did you see a black girl . . . about my age?”
“No, ma’am—everybody dun got off an’ dere ain’t nobody here but jes’ me, ma’am.”
Katie continued on, through the next car . . . and the next. Except for an occasional train worker, all the cars were empty of passengers.
Finally she reached the front of the train. She stepped back out onto the platform where Aunt Nelda was waiting for her.
“Did you see her?” asked Katie.
“No,” replied Katie’s aunt. “I walked all the way up the platform, but there was no sign of her. She must have slipped past us and gone into the station.”
They left the train, crossed the platform, and walked through the wide double doors into the station. The huge room was filled with people coming and going. As the recently arriving passengers greeted the people who had come for them and gathered their things, slowly the crowd diminished in size. Katie and Aunt Nelda walked about together for a while, then separated and continued to walk back and forth throughout the huge hall.
Half an hour later, the room was mostly empty except for a few remaining passengers and train workers. They walked toward each other from opposite sides of the room.
“I’m frightened, Aunt Nelda,” said Katie with a look of desperation. “Where could she be? What could have happened to her?”
“I don’t know, dear,” said her aunt. “I’m concerned too. Let’s go talk to the stationmaster.”
NO TRACE
18
KATIE AND HER AUNT MADE THEIR WAY TO THE office of the stationmaster. Aunt Nelda explained the situation.
“We can’t find her anywhere,” said Katie frantically. “But she was on the train with me. They put her in a car of blacks at the back of the train. The conductor was very rude about it.”
“I’m sorry, miss,” said the stationmaster, “but the train that just arrived from Washington had no coach designated for Negroes. The Negro cars only come as far north as Washington. Beyond that, blacks are seated in the cars along with the other passengers. Where was it you came from?”
“Charlotte.”
“Through Raleigh, Richmond, and Washington?” the man asked.
“That’s right.”
“Hmm . . . there was some trouble reported between Richmond and Washington.”
“What kind of trouble?” asked Katie anxiously.
“Actually . . . it’s an embarrassment for the railroad.”
“Why . . . what happened?”
“It seems—this is very unfortunate—but it seems . . . that one of the cars was lost.”
“Lost . . . how could a car be lost from a moving train!”
“They’re not sure exactly. Apparently it came unconnected from the train.”
“Was it the last car . . . the Negro car?”
“I’m afraid so, miss.”
“What about the people onboard?” asked Katie’s aunt.
“That is the strange part,” answered the man. “We received a telegram saying the car was discovered, but that all the passengers had vanished without a trace. There was no sign of them.”
“But what are you doing about it?” asked Katie in disbelief.
The man shrugged. “What can we do? We assume the passengers continued on to their destinations on foot. It would be useless to attempt to track them down.”
“But what if something happened to them?”
“We are a railroad, miss. We are not equipped to send posses after missing passengers when they leave the train. There is just not much the railroad can do under the circumstances.”
By now Katie was getting angry again. Her experience with officials of the railroad had not been a pleasant one.
As she and her aunt left the stationmaster’s office and walked back out into the deserted station, Katie looked all around again, then finally began to cry.
“Aunt Nelda,” she said through her tears, “what are we going to do!”
“Why don’t we go home, get you settled, and have something to eat,” said Aunt Nelda. “It’s nearly night and we cannot do anything more here. We’ve left our names with the stationmaster. They will notify us if anything turns up. In the meantime, if Mayme should telegraph us, we need to be at home. Does she know how to send a telegraph?”
“I don’t know,” said Katie. “We sent one back home from Richmond last night. So she can figure it out.”
“Does she have any money?”
“A little. And that reminds me—we were supposed to send a telegram home when we arrived in Philadelphia too. Uncle Templeton and Uncle Ward will be expecting it.”
“We don’t want to worry them,” said Katie’s aunt. “Let’s think about it overnight and decide what to say to them. They’ll be less concerned hearing nothing than for us to tell them we can’t find Mayme!”
“Maybe you’re right. Oh . . . this is so terrible. And if I know Mayme, wherever she is, she’ll be more worried about me than she is herself.”
“We’ll come down to the station again tomorrow when the northbound arrives and see if she’s on it.”
Katie sighed and wiped at her eyes. It didn’t sound like a very satisfactory plan, but there was nothing else they could do. Dejectedly Katie followed Aunt Nelda from the station to her waiting carriage.
There was no telegram waiting for them when they arrived at Aunt Nelda’s house.
They returned to the station again the next day. But there was no sign of Mayme, nor word of any kind.
She had disappeared without a trace.
ROSEWOOD
19
AFTER WAITING AROUND GREENS CROSSING FOR SEVeral hours before receiving the telegram from Katie and Ma
yme at Mrs. Hammond’s store, Ward and Templeton Daniels rode back to Rosewood in the chill of early evening.
The following day Rosewood was quiet. Too quiet. Neither of them felt like doing much, but they had to keep busy to keep it from feeling too dreary with their two girls gone . . . and to keep themselves from worrying. But neither relished the idea of another ride into town.
“Elfrida will keep the next telegram for us,” said Templeton. “By tonight they’ll be with Nelda anyway. They’ll be fine.”
“They’re just about grown-up,” said Ward, nodding. “I reckon it’s time we stopped nursemaiding them.”
“It’s hard to do with your own daughter.”
“That I wouldn’t know,” laughed Ward. “I’ll have to take your word for it.”
Just then Josepha walked into the kitchen.
“You two ’bout ready fo sum lunch?” she said.
“And another pot of coffee,” said Templeton. “I’ve been sipping at this cold breakfast pot all morning.”
Josepha began bustling about with the fire in the stove and before long the smell of brewing coffee filled the kitchen. Then she set about slicing bread and cheese.
“What’s that husband of yours up to today?” asked Ward.
“He’s still workin’ on dat bookshelf,” replied Josepha. “He’s still determined dat I’s gwine hab a nice shelf wiff books on it. I ain’t got no books!” she added with a laugh. “But I’s gwine hab da finest bookshelf in Shenandoah County!”
Ward and Templeton laughed with her.
“When a man’s in love, there’s nothing he won’t do for his lady,” said Templeton.
The words seemed to sober Josepha. Her hands went still on the bread counter and a faraway look came into her eye. She thought a moment.
“You really reckon dat’s true, Mister Templeton?” she asked after a minute.
“I do indeed, Josepha.”
She shook her head, almost in disbelief, and let out a long sigh.
“Laws almighty, dat’s a strange an’ fearsome thing,” she said. “A man in love wiff da likes er me . . . my oh my, dat’s sum amazin’ thing, all right. But . . . I reckon he is at dat. He’s a good man, ain’t he?”
“Henry’s one of the finest men I know,” said Templeton.
KATIE’S BOLD DECISION
20
WHEN THERE WAS NO WORD FROM MAYME ON Katie’s second day in Philadelphia, and when the railroad was apparently doing nothing to locate the missing passengers, Katie was nearly beside herself with worry.
They couldn’t do any of the things they had planned. They couldn’t do anything at all except sit . . . and wait . . . and hope to hear something. The clock on the mantel ticked by the seconds, but the hands moved slower than Katie thought was possible. It seemed that every hour when she glanced at the clock, only five minutes had gone by!
To pass the time and try to console herself, she had been reading Rob Paxton’s letter through again. Suddenly an idea came into her brain like a bolt of lightning.
“Aunt Nelda!” she said excitedly. “Can you take me to the telegraph office?”
“Of course, dear. Have you decided to tell Templeton and Ward what has happened?”
“No, not that,” said Katie, already going for her coat. “I want to send a telegram to someone else.”
“Who?”
“Rob Paxton—our friend that I told you about . . . the sheriff’s deputy.”
“Ah yes . . . the young man from Baltimore.”
“Yes, but he lives in Hanover now. I suppose it’s bold, Aunt Nelda,” said Katie, “but I don’t know what else to do. Maybe he can tell us what we should do.”
“It is certainly worth trying,” said Katie’s aunt, now rising also. “Then afterwards I can show you a little around the city to help us take our minds off it for a while, while we wait to see if there’s a reply.”
Sheriff John Heyes left the only decent dining establishment in Hanover, Pennsylvania, after a satisfactory lunch, and walked along the boardwalk back toward his office. As he passed the telegraph office, he heard his name called out from inside.
He stopped and went inside.
“Sheriff, I’m glad I caught you,” said the man behind the counter. “I was just about to come down to your office. I’ve been wanting to talk to you.”
“What is it, Tim?”
“This just came in for your deputy.”
He handed him the customary yellow envelope containing a telegram.
“For Rob, you say . . . not me?”
“It’s to him, all right.”
“Must not be official business, then.”
“Didn’t sound like it, Sheriff. Of course, he’ll have to tell you about it . . . I can’t, you understand.”
“I’ll see that he gets it right away.”
“By the way, John,” said the man, “I wanted you to hear this from me—I just got word that my son’s going to stay up in New York State for a good long while. Landed him a good job and his family is happy there. You know I built that little new house, figuring I’d move there when my son and his family took over the main house. But that’s not going to happen now, so I’ve decided to sell my place and move north to join them.”
“You . . . Tim Evans, the original pioneer of Hanover! You can’t leave here, Tim!” laughed Heyes. “The town wouldn’t know what to do with itself. You were the town’s mayor a while back as I recall, long before I moved up here.”
“I was, and I’ve served six times,” said Evans, “whenever they couldn’t find anyone else to take the job!” he added, laughing. “But time marches on, John. I’m not quite ready to retire yet, but I want to be with my family and a good telegraph man can always get work. They’re also doing a lot up there with new inventions—electricity, pumps, heating systems, ways to heat a house in the winter other than just a fireplace in every room—pumping heat through pipes through the house from one central fire that will heat the whole place. I’d love to get in on something new like that while I’m still young enough. It’s a good time for a change for me. And I need to be near my family.”
“You’d hardly need to work if you sell your spread. What is it . . . a hundred acres?”
“Actually more like two hundred with the old Quaker claim,” replied Evans.
“That’s right, I’d forgotten. There’s an old house out there, isn’t there? Is it still standing?”
“Yeah, the place had been in a Quaker family from back in the days when Pennsylvania was nearly all Quaker. The house and barns aren’t in very good shape, but I’ve tried to keep it in one piece.”
“Three houses on two hundred acres—that ought to qualify you to get a good price,” said Heyes.
“We’ll see. I just hope to find someone who will love the place the way my wife and I loved it before she passed away. We built the new house with our own hands, but now it seems time to let it go. It’s one of the hardest things to do in the world, you know, John, letting go of a lifelong dream.”
He glanced toward the sheriff and smiled a melancholy smile. “But I know it’s the right thing,” he added. “So . . . that’s why I have found myself wondering if perhaps . . . well, I have heard you speak of getting out of the law business and settling down to a quiet life of ranching . . . so I thought it might be just right for you.”
Heyes laughed, but it was obvious that Evans’ words had hit something deep inside him.
“You are a shrewd man, Timothy Evans,” he said. “I doubt I could ever meet your price. No one gets rich on a lawman’s wages. But the thought of taking off this badge and settling on a spread like yours is tempting indeed. I can’t think of anything I’d like better. And that young deputy of mine is sharp enough to take my place. He could probably run against me . . . and win.”
“He never would.”
“I think you’re right.”
“He’s completely devoted to you, John.”
Heyes nodded, then chuckled lightly. “I suppose he is at
that,” he said. “He’s a good kid. I’m lucky to have him.”
“So you’ll think about it?” persisted Evans.
“I’m not ready to retire yet. But now I don’t suppose I’ll be able to help thinking about it,” laughed Heyes. “Anybody else know?”
“No,” said Evans. “I don’t want this spread around. If I decide to sell at all, it’s got to be to the right person. It matters a lot to me who lives in my home and who winds up with that old Quaker place.”
“May I tell my deputy? Decisions I make affect him in the long run.”
“Sure.”
The sheriff continued on his way, entered his own office, and handed the envelope to the young man seated behind the desk.
“Looks like you’ve got a telegram, Rob,” he said.
“Me,” said Deputy Paxton in surprise. “Who from?”
“Don’t know.”
Rob opened the envelope, took out the yellow sheet, and read the message. The look on his face certainly did not indicate that it was good news. He handed it to Heyes.
Dear Rob, Heyes read. Arrived at aunt’s in Philadelphia. Mayme put in colored car at back of train but never arrived. Looked everywhere. They say car came loose from train. All people disappeared. No word from Mayme. Very worried. What should we do? Send word to Nelda Fairchild, 37 Bingham Court, Philadelphia. Yours, Kathleen Clairborne.
“What do you make of it?” asked Heyes.
“I don’t know,” replied Rob. “You think it could have anything to do with those reports we’ve heard about disappearing Negroes and the Caribbean slave market?”
“It could be. But the whole thing sounds pretty farfetched.”
Rob thought a moment, then reached for a sheet of paper and pen. “I’m going to write Katie a short reply,” he said. “And then—I’m sorry to do this to you on such short notice . . . but I’m going to have to take a few days off.”
“Starting when?”
“Starting now, I’m afraid, Mr. Heyes,” answered Rob. “I’ve got to catch the train to Philadelphia. Meantime, can you see what you can dig up on that black-market slave thing? Seems like there was a suspected transport spot on the Virginia coast somewhere.”
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