The Attic Diary

by Derek Miller

  Well, they cussed and cried as they turned the boat around and started rowing back across the river, bailing water like crazy.

  I was still looking at Milly with my mouth hanging open. I had no idea my bride could shoot like that!

  “Lyle,” John said, “Where’s your wagon? We need to get this man to Dr. Woodworth.”

  “Dr. Woodworth?” I asked. “The vet?”

  “He’s on our side and does what he can to help when something like this happens,” John said.

  Within minutes, Milly and I found our wagon, turned it around, and picked up our charge. I drove as fast as I could, but my hands were shaking. The poor man moaned and groaned the whole way—such terrible pain. Every so often, I’d glance back and see that family huddled together in one corner of the wagon, his head cradled in his wife’s lap, the two children sitting close to their mother, their big eyes filled with a fathomless fear. I thanked God that no one else was on the road that night.

  I pulled up to Dr. Woodworth’s house/office. Even though it was late, he was awake and dressed, waiting with a lit lantern. His dogs had barked us all the way up the long drive way that led to his house.

  “Thank goodness you are here!” John said, scrambling out of the wagon.

  “I just got back from the Risner farm. They needed help with a cow that was giving birth to twins.”

  Dr. Woodworth heard the moans coming from the back of the wagon. “What do you need me to do?”

  “A man has been shot,” John said.

  Dr. Woodworth rushed over to the wagon, holding his lantern aloft.

  “Help me get him inside.”

  While me and John lifted him, Dr. Woodworth glanced at Milly. “Take the woman and boys into the house. My wife will have food and coffee ready in a few minutes and she’ll help you care for them.”

  For the next hour, I saw a man who regularly stuck his hands up cows rears and shot horses who had broken legs use every skill he had to try and save this complete stranger.

  I didn’t know what to do. John and I helped hold the man down as Dr. Woodworth pulled out the bullet and tried to stop the bleeding.

  “You’d be surprised how many bullets Dr. Woodworth has pulled out of men and horses these past couple of years. If anyone can save this man it is him.” John said to me, under his breath.

  But Dr. Woodworth’s skill was not enough.

  Whatever we paid our preacher—which was usually just whatever pocket change that ended up in the hat that was passed each service--it was not enough for what that man had to do next. That thirty yard walk to the poor man’s wife and kids was one of the most difficult I had ever taken. The way John was able to take the woman’s hands in his and tell her that her husband had died is something I could never do.

  Milly hugged the two little boys. I just stood there with my hands in my pocket with my head down.

  It was then I felt a hand on my arm. It was the poor man’s wife.

  “My husband promise us he get us to freedom or die trying.” Her voice was choked up as she finished. “Thank you for helping him keep his promise to our children.”

  I was so taken aback I did not know what to say. I just stood there, patting her hand, while shedding tears so bitter, I was surprised the grass upon which they fell didn’t curl up and die.

  So in the middle of the night, in the woods behind Dr. Woodworth’s house, we dug a grave for a man who had died keeping his promise to his family. John said a few words and a prayer. I held the hands of the two boys and we sung a little song, then we made our way back to Dr. Woodworth’s house.

  “You all can go on home, now,” Dr. Woodworth said. “I’ll help this family make the next connection.”

  So the three of us, Milly, John, and I, loaded up in the wagon and headed out. We did not say a word the whole time. We were all just too spent from the emotion of the evening. We dropped off John and then Milly and I went home and tried to sleep. As tired as we were, sleep did not come. Both of us tossed and turned all night.

  Hannah used the heel of her shoe to kill a wasp that was walking slowly across the wood floor of the attic. When she glanced back at the diary, she noticed that in faded ink, Lyle had gone back and written a little note next to this last entry.

  I will never forget the face of the man who died or his wife or kids. We went through hell together, but I never got their names. I will always wonder what happened to them. Long after Dr. Woodworth had moved away, I would still visit the grave of that man we buried in the woods. One year there were some flowers laying on the unmarked spot on the ground. It gave me hope that perhaps his family had made it to “freedom.” No one knew the location of the grave except for Me, John, Milly, Dr. Woodworth and his wife.

  Hannah’s phone buzzed in her back pocket and she jumped as though she had been shot. For a moment, she had trouble remembering where she was or what century she was living in. It took her a second to remember that she was living in the twenty-first century and in her back pocket was something that would have been unthinkable to Lyle or Milly—a cell phone telling her that she had a text.

  She checked the text message. It was a long one, from her second-best friend, Carly, back in California who had never quite caught on to using short-hand texting messaging. It was not good news.

  “Joey and Madison have announced they are going out together. It’s on Facebook. I’m so sorry. Joey told Greg that he still likes you but you stayed in Ohio too long.”

  What a jerk!

  That was the only thing Hannah could think. Joey was such a jerk! It was only two weeks ago that he was swearing that he loved her. Was even talking marriage when they both “grew up.”

  And that Madison! Some best friend she was!

  Mentally, she shuffled Carly up to best friend status and erased Madison from the list.

  And then she waited for the tears to come—but strangely enough, they didn’t come. It was odd, but after the story she’d been reading, Joey just didn’t appeal all that much to her anymore. For the life of her, she could not envision him putting his life at risk for enslaved people. In fact, she couldn’t imagine him putting his life at risk for anything. Joey wasn’t like that. Joey was kind of all about himself.

  Funny. She’d never realized that before.

  Cute only went so far—and that was about all that Joey had going for him.

  Hannah shrugged, put her cell phone back into her pocket, and opened the diary. The real-life drama she was reading about in the diary felt so much more important to her than the teenage drama that was going on in California. She was glad she was out of that scene for now.

  As far as she was concerned…Madison and Joey were welcome to each other.

  She decided that if she ever fell in love—it would be with someone like Preacher John or Dr. Woodworth—a man who would risk his life, if necessary, for others.

  Calmly, she licked one finger and turned the page.

  Chapter Eight

  Caught

  Not every plan worked.

  I had been waiting on the river bank for hours. Finally the two slaves, a man and woman, showed up. They were older and slower to move. Who knows how many times they had been beaten and injured? I helped them get away from the bank, and tried to hurry them the fifty yards to my wagon.

  We were so close. We almost made it.

  Then they saw us.

  There were six men who had been waiting just for this opportunity. Here I was—a white man helping slaves escape. They had been hiding and watching me the whole time.

  “Looks like we got us a nigger-lover tonight,” the lead man taunted.

  If only I could have gotten to the wagon before they caught us. My gun was so close. Part of me wished Milly had come along. Part of me was grateful that she’d been feeling poorly and had chosen not to come. At least she was in no danger, but I wondered if I’d ever see her again.

  Then the punches came. The first one landed in my gut. Then came the blows to my face. They busted my lip, wh
ich began to bleed.

  I got two of them good, but there were six of them. It only took them a few seconds to restrain me. I was furious, but there was nothing more I could do against such odds.

  One of the six was holding the old woman and another was holding the old man. There was nothing either of the slaves could do. Not only were they older, but they were so weakened by the terrible journey they had undertaken.

  “I jus’ wan’ see freedom one time ‘afore I die,” the old woman cried. “That’s all. Jus’ one time.”

  My heart broke for her—and for the old man who was too weak to protect her.

  “Do we hang ‘em or see if they are worth any money?” one of the men said.

  I strained as hard as I could but just no way to get loose.

  “I say we hang ‘em,” a weasel-looking man said. “Just for the fun of it. They ain’t gonna be worth nothing! Look at ‘em. Wouldn’t have made it this far if their owner wanted ‘em back. Probably let ‘em trot off just so he woudn’t have to feed ‘em no more.”

  “Leave them alone!” I growled.

  One of the men laughed as he hit me square in the jaw.

  “What’s going on tonight boys.” It was Sheriff Paul Wolfe.

  I had never been so grateful to see anyone in my life!

  “I see you caught yourselves some slaves.” Paul walked over and inspected them. “I don’t care what you do with them, but why you messing with a perfectly good white man?”

  My heart sank. The sheriff was nearly as bad as the others. He was going to be no help.

  “He was trying to help them escape,” the weasel man said.

  “This guy?” the Sheriff said. “Let me get a better look at his face.”

  Sherriff Wolfe walked grabbed my hair and yanked my head back.

  “You idiots!,” he said. “This is one of the best slave catchers we have around here. He pretends to help them, and they go along like sheep. But he brings them to me and we share the rewards.”

  “What?” The weasel-man’s eyes narrowed. “What are you talking about?”

  “Which one of you punched him?” The sheriff slid his hand down to where it could rest on the butt of his six-gun “Don’t you idiots know that he married the judge’s little sister?”

  My head was spinning. What in the world was going on? I only knew the Sherriff from tipping my hat to him from time to time while crossing paths. And I certainly was not married to the judge’s sister!

  “You guys better run. Judge Macomb will have you all hung if he hears six of you jumped his brother-in-law and beat him up.

  The men holding me let go of me like I was burning their fingers.

  I was still furious over what they had done and said.

  “I got a good look at your faces,” I growled. “I’d better never see you in this town again or my brother-in-law, the judge will help even the score!”

  The sheriff pulled his gun, and the men took off running. Cowards. Every last one of them.

  “You okay?” the sheriff said. “Anything broken?”

  “I’ll be fine,” I nodded toward the two old slaves. “But I don’t know about them.”

  “You’ll be all right.” The sheriff took off his coat and put it around the woman who was trembling. “I won’t let anything bad happen to you while you’re in my county.”

  He turned back to me. “Sorry I had to do a little acting but there was six of them and I didn’t want to shoot them all.”

  “No problem” I said, “but I thought all three of us were goners for sure before you came up.”

  “Can you drive the wagon?” he asked.

  “Yes, just help them into the back of the wagon and cover them up. I’ll take them to the next station,” I said. “There’s food and drink back there, and plenty of blankets.”

  “Got it.” With such caring and tenderness he helped the old woman and man up into the wagon. After he was satisfied that they were covered up and comfortable, he walked back to the front to talk with me.

  “You need to get out of here now. I’ll follow you for awhile until I know for sure those baboons don’t drink any liquid courage and try to come back at you. By the way. It’s probably best if we pretend we never met.”

  I tried to make a joke. “Who are you again?”

  The sheriff did not laugh.

  “If you have to come back to this area,” he said. “Try to get a message to me first. I’ll make sure I’m around as well and ready to start some trouble with the trouble makers,” the sheriff said. “It might give you a chance to get in and out with your ‘passengers’.”

  We shook hands. He followed me for a few miles and then veered off.

  In the next few months, I don’t know how many times that man saved my life. He never took credit and only showed up when it looked like trouble was coming my way. He had a real talent for me not seeing him and it made me wonder how many times he diverted disaster for me that I never saw coming.

  I still believe that the Lord sent a guardian angel to protect me and the poor souls I tried to rescue—and the name of that guardian angel was Wolfe.

  Hannah heard footsteps on the stairs and hurriedly stuffed the diary away. A piece of it snagged and tore on a sharp nail sticking out of the board. Just as the door to the attic opened, she shoved a stack of boxes in front of it.

  “Hi,” her dad said. “You’ve been up here a long time. Is everything all right?”

  “Fine.” Hannah nervously dusted her hands off on her jeans. “Just cleaning up a bit.”

  “Doesn’t seem like there’s all that much to clean.” He looked all around the nearly bare attic. “Looks to me like you’ve finally managed to carry nearly all the contents of this place downstairs. Your mother and aunts have been wondering what is taking you so long.”

  He waited.

  She didn’t know what to say. It was obvious that there was no reason for her to be up here with only three boxes left.

  “Do you know how long you’ve been up here, Hannah?” he asked.

  “Sorry. No.” She didn’t have so much as a watch on—and had forgotten to check her cell phone.

  “You’ve been up here, alone, for the past three hours. With nothing to sit on except the hard wood floor, and nothing to do. Have you been texting? Talking on your cell phone?”

  “No. Nothing except I read one small text.”

  He held out his hand. “Let me see it.”

  “My phone?”

  “Yes. I want to check and see if you’re lying to me.”

  She handed it to him and he scrolled through her messages. That was embarrassing. It was sometimes annoying to have a father who was also a geek and knew more about her cell phone and her computer than she did.

  “Joey and Madison are an item now?” he asked. “Is that what’s been going on? Have you been up here crying?”

  “I haven’t been crying.” She shook her head. “I don’t really care all that much.”

  He looked her in the face, in that way he had—as though she were a puzzle and if he concentrated hard enough, he could figure her out.

  It suddenly struck her how much her mom and dad would enjoy reading the diary. How much her aunt would enjoy reading it, too. She had been selfish to keep it for herself. It was something that should be enjoyed by the whole family—even if it meant not keeping it as her special treasure.

  “I need to show you something, Dad.”

  “Oh?” He said. “And what’s that?”

  “Trust me,” she said. “This is going to blow your mind!”

  “I left my glasses downstairs,” her father said as he peered at the old-fashioned hand-writing after she told him the story of finding the diary and gave him the headline version of what she’d found out so far. “There’s no way I can read that without them.”

  “Do you want me to read a little out loud to you?” she asked.

  “I’d like that,” her dad said. “Just give me a minute to get comfortable.”

  He sho
ved some dead wasps aside with his shoe, sat down cross-legged in the space he had cleared on the dusty, wooden floor and leaned his back against the wall. “Go ahead.”

  She felt a sudden, intense love for her father. This was so like him. When it came to anything connected to her or her brother, he was always willing to listen—even if it meant sitting in the dirt.

  She cleared her throat and began to read.

  Chapter Nine

  Satan Walks Among Us

  I had good parents and they always looked for the best in people. I like to believe that rubbed off on me. I always thought people were basically good and if they were bad I figured they must have had something bad happen to them to change them.

  And yet to this day, I firmly believe that I actually met Satan (or one of his demons) during that desperate time when Milly and I tried to save the lives of those souls brave enough to cross the river.

  There was a new man who moved to our town. The moment I laid eyes on him I felt that he was evil—but I tried to shove away that feeling. I thought I was just reacting to his homely appearance and I chastised myself for it.

  He had yellow teeth, small eyes, and a long nose that reminded me of the beak of a bird. When I learned his name it did not surprise me to find out his name matched his face. His name was Fred Byrd.

  He claimed to be a merchant who had moved from the south to pursue a business opportunity. I quickly learned he had other, more devious plans--he was an excellent slave catcher.

  As soon as the southern slave owners discovered his name and talents they all sent him word of escaped slaves and the bounty on their heads. Those were dark days shortly after he came to town. Through my sources I found out he was catching two or three runaways a week up and down the river. It was heart-breaking to see “our” people, hands tied, being rowed across the river by some southern slaver. .

  I once saw Fred standing at the river, grinning that yellow-toothed smile, counting his money. There were children in that boat. I have no words to describe how badly I wanted to plant a fist right in the middle of that man’s face. But there were other people around, and I knew that landing myself in jail would not help anyone escape north.