"Slave, I think. Wasn't that the whole issue with the Missouri Compromise?"
Ryan strained his brain to recall the things he'd learned about the Civil War and the events leading up to it. Disagreements over slavery threatened to tear apart the Union. Missouri was admitted to the nation as a slave state, and Maine entered as a free state. Congress approved the so-called "Missouri Compromise" to maintain an equal number of slave and free states.
Ryan said, "What do you think the case we fell into was about?"
Jarvis swallowed the rest of his apple, seeds and all. "I don't know. Considering the time and the place, I'd guess the Missouri Compromise, maybe."
"Sounds boring."
"Yeah. Most of the law sounds boring. Until you look through a leaphole. You have to see the people and how it affects their lives. That's the interesting part."
"That's what Hezekiah used to say." Ryan glanced toward the flowing river. His belly was full from the apples, but just mentioning the old lawyer's name brought back an empty feeling inside. "You think we'll ever find Hezekiah?" said Ryan.
Jarvis didn't answer. He was on his back, snoring. Ryan was getting sleepy, too. He reclined on the grassy slope. With his hands clasped behind his head, he looked up at the clouds. As a kid, he and his friends used to find clouds that looked like cars or trains or even elephants. He hadn't played that game in a long time. In fact, he hadn't seen any of those friends since his father went to jail. Their parents wouldn't let them hang out with Ryan anymore.
Ryan rolled on his side and felt a lump under his ribs. It was an apple, which made him smile. But it was a sad smile. It reminded him of that old saying: "The apple doesn't fall far from the tree."
His eyelids were growing heavy. He was thinking about his dad. The day that marked the beginning of trouble for Ryan's family had been a day much like this one. It was sunny and warm, the kind of day when nothing should go wrong. As a patch of puffy white clouds moved across the bright blue sky, Ryan's thoughts drifted back to the past. Or was it the future? It was getting complicated. He was in 1857 now, so technically speaking, Ryan Coolidge hadn't even been born yet. But to Ryan, his memories would always be "the past," even if the power of leapholes had landed him on the banks of the Mississippi River in the nineteenth century. At that particular moment, one of those memories came flooding back to him. With his eyes closed, he could see himself on a beach not far from the Coolidge house. He could see himself in the twenty-first century again, but it was long before Ryan would meet Hezekiah. It was before he would watch his father plead guilty in court. It was even before his father would be arrested. It was the innocent beginning--the very beginning--of a story with a terrible ending.
A balmy breeze was blowing in from the bay. Ryan could almost taste the sea salt in the air. Crandon Park on Key Biscayne was always full of beach lovers on Sundays, and on gloriously sunny days like this one, the park was packed. The Coolidge family did a barbecue every weekend. Their favorite spot was about a hundred yards from the beach, a little picnic area beneath the shade of a huge banyan tree. Ryan's father would cook hamburgers and chicken breasts on the grill. His mother made the salads and snacks. Ryan always got to bring a friend along. This time (as usual) he brought his best friend, Leddy "Sweaty" Colletti. They headed straight for the beach.
Ryan and Leddy were lying flat on their backs. Above them was only blue sky. Ryan could feel the warm, wet sand beneath him. Anyone could leave a handprint in the sand, but Ryan liked to leave full-body prints. In a rhythm that seemed to have no end, the white foam of breaking waves rode up the shoreline. They reached as far as Ryan's knees before receding back into the ocean. It was the most relaxing feeling imaginable.
A seagull soared overhead. It was coming closer. Too close. Ryan sat up quickly. He would never forget what had happened to his friend Leddy the last time they were lying on the beach. Seagulls had some deadly aim.
Ryan looked left, then right. It was the most beautiful beach he had ever seen. The sand was like powder with a pinkish cast to it. Palm trees dotted the shoreline. Some were forty or fifty feet tall, with long, skinny trunks that reached for the sun. It reminded Ryan of a brontosaurus's neck.
Around him, sun worshipers had spread out their blankets. Beach chairs and colorful umbrellas dotted the landscape. Ryan's gaze drifted toward the cabana behind him. It was shelter for three generations of females--a grandmother, a mother, and a little girl about two years old. The girl seemed fascinated by her grandmother's jewelry. She tugged on the necklace and drooled on the bracelet. Ryan smiled wanly. The days when he could do absolutely anything he wanted and still be adorable had long since passed.
The mother and grandmother were deep in conversation. The two year old was obsessed with the jewelry. She was especially fascinated by the ring. It was one of those obnoxious, rich-old-grandma rings with an emerald stone as big as an acorn. It must have looked tasty to the toddler. She started licking it. Grandma didn't seem to care. She just kept talking, and the little girl kept licking. The ring was still on the old woman's finger, but grandma didn't notice as the girl started sucking on the big stone like a pacifier.
Suddenly, the child started choking. The grandmother screamed. The stone was missing from her ring. The child had worked it loose from the setting. That huge, green stone had come off the ring and was now lodged in the child's windpipe. The grandmother tried to reach into the child's throat, but it would not come out. She screamed for help.
Ryan leaped to his feet and ran to them. "She swallowed the stone! I saw it. I saw it happen!"
"We know!" the grandmother screamed. "Do something!"
Ryan shouted to his friend. "Leddy, call the lifeguard!" Then he looked at the grandmother and said, "My mom's a doctor. I'll get her!"
In a flash, Ryan raced across the beach. He found his mother back at the picnic area. She had a camera bag around her neck, and she was busy photographing red and yellow hibiscus flowers.
"Mom, come quick! A baby's choking!"
Dr. Coolidge didn't even have time to drop her camera bag. She ran with Ryan across the sand to the cabana. A crowd had gathered to watch. The onlookers had formed a semicircle around the mother and grandmother. The lifeguard was on his knees, and he was holding the little girl in his lap. His attempt to perform the Heimlich maneuver was finding no success. It was clear that he'd never practiced on a child so young. The child's face was turning blue. Her mother and grandmother looked horrified, fearing the worst.
"I'm a pediatrician!" Dr. Coolidge shouted as she broke through the crowd. "Let me try."
The lifeguard handed the child over to her. Something had to be done quickly. The girl was fading from lack of oxygen. Ryan's mother dropped her camera bag and gathered the child into her arms. She placed one hand on the girl's back and the other on her tiny abdomen. Quickly but gently, she pushed. But nothing happened.
She tried again.
Still nothing.
"Please, please!" the grandmother cried.
She tried a third time, and it was like uncorking a bottle of champagne. The emerald stone popped from the child's mouth and flew through the air. It landed in the sand, right next to the doctor's camera bag.
The child was crying, like a newborn drawing her first breath.
Her mother and grandmother screamed with relief. The onlookers applauded. Dr. Coolidge continued to massage the child's chest, trying to make her breathe regularly. Just then the paramedics broke through the crowd. Ryan's mother helped them give the child oxygen from a tank. When she seemed satisfied that her young patient would be okay, she didn't stand up and take a bow. She didn't wave to the crowd of onlookers like some kind of hero. She simply whispered something into the mother's ear--something that wiped away much of the anxiety from the young mother's face.
And then Dr. Coolidge quietly slipped away, melting into the crowd of onlookers.
Ryan had never been so proud of anyone in his entire life. For that brief and wonderful moment, it felt like
a badge of honor to have the last name "Coolidge."
Chapter 24
Hey, what do you think you're doing over there?"
Ryan was only half awake, and he didn't recognize the voice. Somehow, however, he realized that the man was talking to him.
Ryan wiped the sleep from his eyes. Part of his brain expected to see the palm trees and sandy beaches along Biscayne Bay. Those images, however, were only in his memories. Instead, he saw the glisten of sunshine dance across the flowing waters of the Mississippi River. He saw Jarvis sound asleep on the grassy bank. And he saw a very large man on a very high horse.
Ryan rose to his feet and faced the stranger. "We're just resting, sir."
The man climbed down from his horse and stepped closer. A beard and thick sideburns covered most of his face. A bushy walrus-like mustache concealed his lips. Ryan hadn't noticed before, but the man was wearing a star-shaped badge on the' pocket of his blue shirt. It read METROPOLITAN POLICE. A gun was holstered on his right side, and he carried a nightstick in his left hand. Ryan braced himself for his first encounter with the law of the nineteenth century.
"You boys aren't from around here, are you?" said the police officer. He seemed intrigued by Ryan's clothes. The blue jeans and sweatshirt weren't totally out of place, but his sneakers were unlike any footwear for the time period.
"No, we're from--" Ryan stopped himself. The less said, the better. "We're from out of town."
"When did you get in?"
"This afternoon."
He spotted the remains of their crab-apple meal scattered across the grass. His gaze returned quickly, and his icy-blue eyes made Ryan shiver. "Where did you get those apfelsT'
"ApfelsT' said Ryan.
"I mean apples," the officer said, correcting himself. The lapse into German pegged him as one of the city's many immigrants.
"Oh, do you mean these apples?" said Ryan, stalling.
"We found them," said Jarvis, rising.
Ryan did a double take. He had thought Jarvis was still sleeping. It was a relief to let someone else do the explaining.
"Found them, huh? You didn't happen to find them on Mrs. Emerson's tree, did you?"
"I wouldn't know anything about a Mrs. Emerson," said Jarvis.
"Is that so? I'll have you know that those are winter crabs you're eating. We had ourselves a mild winter, but Mrs. Emerson's got the only trees in town with fruit hanging in March. So what have you to say about this, boy? You want to tell me whose tree you raided?"
"Ryan, don't say anything," said Jarvis, his voice barely above a whisper.
The sour taste of crab apples was rising in Ryan's throat. If he got into trouble now, he might never find Hezekiah. "I'm not going to lie. We were going to pay for them, as soon as we figured out how to get some money. We took them from--"
"Hey, Conradt!" another officer shouted. He was on horseback, stopped on a street that led down to the river.
The other officer--Conradt--shouted back at him. "What you want, Brooks?"
"Need your help on Main Street. The posse is back in town. They got six runaway slaves with them."
Officer Conradt pointed toward Ryan and said, "Can't you see I'm busy here?"
"Forget about them!" said Brooks. "We gotta get this crowd under control, or we'll have a riot on our hands. Every available officer, right now!"
Conradt shook his head, frustrated. He looked at Ryan and Jarvis and said, "Guess this is your lucky day, fellas." Then he jumped back on his horse and rode back into town.
The minute he was gone, Ryan said, "Let's get over to Main Street."
"What?" said Jarvis.
"Didn't you hear what that other cop said? A posse is bringing runaway slaves into town. People are up in arms. It's the slave owners versus the slavery opponents. This could be it!"
He started running. Jarvis gave chase, but he was nowhere near as fast.
"Could be what?" said Jarvis.
Ryan was at full speed, headed for Main Street. He glanced back and shouted, "That place Hezekiah was looking for. The place where the brood follows the dam!"
Chapter 25
Night fell as the posse rode into town on horseback. An unruly crowd lined both sides of Main Street. Slave owners stood on one side, opponents on the other. Hand-held torches lit up the night, casting a yellow-orange glow on a sea of angry faces. People shouted back and forth, tempers flaring, words running on top of words. It was impossible to discern any single voice, any coherent sentence. There was just a noisy, collective rumble of discontent.
Ryan and Jarvis pushed their way through the crowd, but it was tough-going. The sidewalks were jammed, and people were spilling into the streets. Ryan noticed black faces and white faces on his side of the street. On the other side, he saw only white. He wanted to be closer to the action, but it was like trying to push his way to the front row of a sold-out concert. Hundreds of people had already staked out their position. Suddenly, two men gave up their spots and headed for the tavern. Ryan and Jarvis maneuvered forward and took the openings.
"Look!" said Jarvis.
A dozen men on horses approached from the east. All of them were white. Each was armed with a pistol and rifle. One was belting back a bottle of whiskey. People on the other side of the street shouted in celebration. Those on Ryan's side hissed and jeered.
"Sinners!" one woman shouted.
"Slavery is immoral!" cried another.
Tempers were on the verge of explosion, and the growing crowd swelled farther into the street. Ryan climbed atop a barrel near the hitching post for a better view. He had a clear line of sight, but he nearly lost his balance when he saw what the posse was bringing into town.
Six black men walked in single file, right down the center of the street. Their hands were bound at the wrists. A heavy chain connected their ankles, and it rattled with their movements. Two of the men were old and appeared to be on the verge of collapse. The rest were much younger, perhaps even teenagers. All of them were singing. Singing. Their tune was slow yet moving, a powerful old spiritual:
Go down, Moses, Way down in Egypt's land, Tell old Pharaoh, Let my people go!
It amazed Ryan that these men could be brought into town like animals, paraded down a crowded street, and still find the courage to sing. As they passed, Ryan noticed the long rope that tethered one man to the next. They were spaced evenly apart, each man a few feet behind the man in front of him. They sang loud and with feeling. Even though crowd noises drowned out most of the lyrics, Ryan could feel the power of their voices. As they trudged forward in their shackles, the rope slackened and drooped between them. It seemed to join them together like a string of sad smiles.
"I have to talk to them," said Ryan.
"Are you crazy?" said Jarvis.
"I need to know if we're in the right place."
"What are you talking about?"
Ryan pushed forward. He squeezed between people and crawled on hands and knees around others. Finally, he was standing on the street. He waited for the right moment. The men on horseback were waving to the pro-slavery side of the street, receiving a hero's welcome. When no one from the posse was looking in his direction, Ryan broke away from the crowd and approached one of the slaves.
"Do you know a man named Hezekiah?" he asked, his voice racing.
"No," the man answered. "Not one of us by dat name."
"But do you know him?" said Ryan. "Have you ever met anyone named Hezekiah?"
"Uh-uh," he said. Then he started singing again.
Ryan dropped back to the second in line. "How about you? Do you know Hezekiah?"
The man shook his head. Ryan moved to the next one, and then to the next, asking the same question. Do you know Hezekiah? Have you ever met him?
No one could help him. Then another thought came to him. He ran ahead to the front of the line and caught up with the first slave.
"Sir, do you know where Legal Evil lives?"
The man didn't answer. His eyes were nearly cl
osed, and he was singing in a loud voice.
"Please, can you help me?" said Ryan. "Do you know a place where the brood follows the dam?"
No answer. The slaves kept walking and singing. Ryan stopped, frustrated. "Does anybody know--"
Ryan was suddenly on the ground. One of the posse members had shoved him aside with the butt of his shotgun. "Back away there, boy! This ain't your property."
Property? Ryan thought. It was the first time he'd ever heard people referred to as "property."
The posse moved on. The slaves went with them. Their singing faded as the march continued down Main Street. Many of the onlookers moved alongside them. Others dispersed, disappearing into the tavern or walking home.
Ryan stood silently in the street, not quite believing what he'd just seen. He looked around for Jarvis, but he didn't see him. He hoped they hadn't gotten separated in all the confusion.
"You all right, son?" a woman asked him.
Ryan turned to see a gentle but unfamiliar face. She appeared to be his mother's age, though it was difficult to tell. She was wearing a hooded cape. The torchbearers had moved on with the posse. The only light was from the moon, the flickering gaslight on the street corner, and a few oil lamps hanging in the windows behind them.
Ryan said, "I'm all right. Thank you."
"What's your name?"
"Ryan." Even in the nineteenth century, he left off the surname.
"I'm Abigail. Abigail Fitzsimons."
As they shook hands she said, "Are you looking for someone?"
Ryan glanced toward the sidewalk, the spot where he'd last seen Jarvis. "Yes, I'm looking for--"
"Hezekiah?"
Ryan froze. "Yes. How did you know that?"
"I heard you asking the other slaves if they knew a man named Hezekiah."
"Oh." He shrugged and said, "None of them could help."
"Maybe I can," she said.
"Do you know Hezekiah?"
"It's not the kind of name you hear every day. But I just saw a man named Hezekiah two days ago."
Leapholes (2006) Page 14
