“Are you all right?” Eveline asked. The tears were still in her eyes, but now they were wide like she’d just seen a ghost.
“I’m all right,” I said. I had no idea what had happened—if I suddenly disappeared right in front of her when the Imagination Station took me back to my time, or if I just reappeared, or what. “Why?”
She watched me carefully. “You rolled under the hay all of a sudden. Were you afraid of something?”
“I…I…” I couldn’t think of an answer that would make sense. “Never mind.”
“You were crying, weren’t you?” Eveline said softly.
Oh, brother, I thought.
“You two better shut your traps!” the wagon driver growled. He was a heavyset man named Master Kinsey. He was the overseer, the man in charge of the slaves, at Colonel Ross’s plantation. “A few days in the field will take the spunk out of you,” he threatened.
I believed him. But Colonel Ross was the owner of the plantation, and he had other ideas.
My mother once made me watch a movie called Gone with the Wind. I didn’t like it much, because it was long and boring and all about a woman who didn’t care who she hurt as long as she got what she wanted. There was a big fire in it, which I thought was okay, but other than that, the adults can have it. Anyway, Colonel Ross lived in a house like the one in the movie. It was real big, with large windows and giant pillars along the front. Master Kinsey pulled the wagon around the back where the sheds and barns were. Beyond them was a “compound” of shacks where the slaves lived. And beyond that was a field that went way out to the horizon.
The place was so pretty that I was beginning to think that it might not be so bad there after all. Then I remembered that I wasn’t here as a visitor; I was a slave. How could I ever forget it?
A wiry man in a dark butler-type suit hustled down the stairs from the back door and raced to the wagon. He was out of breath with excitement. “Saints be blessed, they’re here,” he said.
I looked around to see who he was talking about and was surprised to realize that it was me and Eveline.
“You can just forget about it, Jonah,” Master Kinsey said. “I’m putting them in the fields.”
Jonah waved his arms around nervously. “No, sir, Master Kinsey. Colonel Ross said they’re for the house. You can ask him yourself; they’re for the house.”
Master Kinsey punched the seat of the wagon. “You can be sure I will, you old liar.” He leapt from the wagon and marched into the house.
“I’m Jonah,” he said to me and Eveline. “Now, come down from the wagon, young’uns. Let me have a look at you.” We jumped down and the jolt made my ribs hurt all over again. He circled us to get a good look. “I think little Nell’s old clothes’ll fit you,” he said to Eveline. Then he eyed me up and down. “Nate’s will do for you.”
“Won’t Nate mind me taking his clothes?” I asked.
“He might mind if he were here and still wanting to wear them,” Jonah said.
“Where is he?” I asked.
“Got shot trying to run away.”
The back door slammed and Master Kinsey stomped down the stairs, muttering the whole way. “He spoils these slaves, I tell you! You don’t break them in and you have nothing but trouble from them.” He climbed back onto the wagon, swearing and fuming, and slapped the reins for the horses to get moving.
Jonah smiled. “I reckon the Colonel told him. You’re to work in the house with me.”
Jonah led us into the back of the house to the kitchen. It was a massive room with a big, wooden table in the middle and a gigantic fireplace off to the side that someone had bricked up. Nearby sat an enormous cast-iron stove. A woman was fussing over the stove, trying to get a fire started in it. The walls were lined with shelves covered with plates and bowls. Pots and pans hung from the ceiling.
Jonah called out to the woman to say that the new house servants were here. “Looky here, Lizzie!” She waved at us without a lot of interest and returned to the stove.
A sturdy-looking beagle strolled into the kitchen to see what was going on. Jonah and Lizzie watched it nervously. “That’s Scout,” Jonah said. “Don’t try to pet him; he’ll take your hand off. He don’t like slaves much.”
“He doesn’t? Why not?” I asked as I tucked my hands under my arms and froze in place while Scout sniffed at me.
“He’s trained to catch runaways,” Jonah replied.
Scout turned to Eveline.
“You’re a pretty dog,” she said and reached down to scratch him behind his ears. I braced myself for an attack. To everyone’s surprise, Scout closed his eyes and panted happily.
“Well, look at that,” Jonah said.
I breathed a sigh of relief.
Jonah waved at us to follow him up a narrow flight of stairs. At the top were a couple of rooms. He gestured to the one on the right. “That’s my room. You’re in this one.” He pushed open a dried up, scarred, wooden door.
“We have our own room?” Eveline asked.
“You want us to share a room?” I asked. I couldn’t believe it.
Jonah went on like he didn’t hear me. “It’s got its own window and two beds—”
Two cots, he meant.
Eveline raced over to one and dropped onto it. Dust flew everywhere. She bounced around like she’d just been given a bed at the White House or something. I didn’t get it. They were two cots with ratty blankets on top. I kind of snorted to show I wasn’t impressed.
“I’m not gonna sleep on that,” I said.
Jonah suddenly grabbed my arm and leaned into my face. His eyes had a yellow color and his breath smelled of old cabbage. “Look, boy, you could be sleeping out in the compound with no bed and no blanket and working in the fields until you want to drop. You better thank the Lord you’re in here. Got it?”
I nodded.
He let go, but kept a stern tone in his voice. “Let me tell you how things are around here. You’re house servants and that means you have to behave. You do what I say, stay out of the master’s way, and everything’ll be good. Step the wrong way and you’ll be licking Master Kinsey’s boots.”
“But we never liked the house slaves,” Eveline said. She didn’t mean anything by it, but said it as a matter of fact.
“You’ve been a field slave, haven’t you?”
Eveline nodded.
Jonah hitched his thumbs in his pockets. “Well, I know field slaves don’t trust us house slaves. That’s how it is in some places. And I know some house slaves I wouldn’t trust neither. But let me tell you that around here, we house slaves watch out for the ones working in the fields. So don’t give me an attitude.”
Eveline nodded again. For her, the case was closed.
It wasn’t for Jonah. He continued, “I know the field slaves think we house slaves have it easy as pie. But we don’t. You’ll see that soon enough. You’ll run errands, go to the market, work in the garden, milk the cows, serve meals, help take care of the horses, dust the house, sweep up, polish the silver, and set the table in the dining room. As a house slave you’re always on duty—the master may call anytime day or night. You’re the last one to bed and the first one to rise.”
I got tired just listening to Jonah talk about all the work I’d do. The only thing that kept me hopeful was that I’d come back to help Eveline find her father—and then we’d all escape. The only problem was that I didn’t know how we’d do it.
I wondered where Jack was—and if he and Reverend Andrew had come up with a plan.
CHAPTER TWO
Jack tells about the bird-watcher.
REVEREND ANDREW WASN’T Reverend Andrew anymore. He got rid of his clerical collar and all his antislavery stuff and became Andrew Jamison, a bird-watcher who was touring through the South to draw and collect all kinds of birds. I was his assistant. I called him “Uncle Andrew.”
I guess I should explain that when Mr. Whittaker turned off the Imagination Station, I had been sitting in a chair in our hotel r
oom in Huntsville, Alabama. Uncle Andrew was washing his face. He had just scolded me for not keeping my mouth shut when he was talking to the slave trader at the auction about where Eveline and Matt had been taken. I was moping and complaining when the butterflies suddenly went crazy in my stomach—and the next thing I knew, I was with Mr. Whittaker again. It was so weird because when I pushed the red button to go back to the adventure, the Imagination Station put me right where I left off in that hotel room. It was like hitting the pause button on a DVD player, then starting it again.
Uncle Andrew turned around to me from the washstand and asked, “What did you say?”
I felt embarrassed because I couldn’t remember what I had said. I just shrugged.
“This evening we’re going to the Mason plantation for dinner,” Uncle Andrew explained.
I sat up in my chair. “The Mason plantation? But Matt and Eveline are at Colonel Ross’s plantation!”
Uncle Andrew turned to face me. “How did you know that?”
His question made my brain seize up. How did I know? “You told me, didn’t you?”
“The slave auctioneer told me, but I don’t remember telling you.”
“You must have told me,” I gulped. “How else could I know?”
The question must’ve stumped him because he didn’t answer or ask me again.
“Anyway,” Uncle Andrew went on, “we’re going to the Masons’. I had already arranged it through my friend before we arrived. Mr. Mason is interested in ornithology.”
“What’s that mean again?” I asked.
“It’s the study of birds.”
“That’s right,” I said. “I keep thinking it’s those dentists who put braces on teeth.”
Uncle Andrew shot me a strange look but didn’t say anything.
“So when are we going over to Colonel Ross’s to rescue Matt and Eveline?” I asked.
“In due time,” Uncle Andrew said firmly. “Our purpose here isn’t just to rescue them. We have to help spread the word among the slaves about the Underground Railroad.”
“Spread the word about it? Don’t they know already?”
“No, many of them don’t. Many of them are so isolated on the plantations that they have no way of knowing.” Uncle Andrew dabbed a towel at his face. “And it’ll be a lot easier to get to the slaves if I can build up a friendship with some of the plantation owners.”
I knew that being impatient wouldn’t help anything, so I agreed to do whatever Uncle Andrew wanted. I regretted it right away when he handed me a stiff suit with a collar like cardboard that cut into my neck.
“If we’re going to a dinner party, then you have to dress for a dinner party,” he said with a smile.
We hired a carriage to take us out to the Mason plantation just as the sun was going down. It must’ve taken us a half hour to get there and I was completely lost. I wondered out loud how the slaves ever knew which way to escape.
Uncle Andrew checked to make sure the driver couldn’t hear us, then pointed out the carriage window to the sky. “The North Star,” he said. “We tell them to follow the North Star.”
We turned onto a dirt driveway where flickering lamps showed us the way to the Mason house. It was a mansion built in what Uncle Andrew said was the Greek Revival style of architecture, which was real popular then. I assumed he was talking about the large, white pillars along the front porch.
A servant ran down to meet our carriage and helped us out. I said “Thanks” but he didn’t look at me or say anything. We strolled up to the front door, which was actually two massive doors, and another servant let us in. (Maybe I should mention that all the servants were black.)
We stepped through the front door and I have to tell you: this place was huge. It had a front hall you could’ve played basketball in. Off of that, the widest staircase I’d ever seen curved around up to the second floor. There were paintings of people all over the walls. The furniture was that rich, curlicue kind, with round backs on the chairs and legs that curve in and out. The house was full of fancy tables, gigantic mirrors, and sparkling chandeliers. Uncle Andrew pointed out that the chandeliers were “Waterford” and the furniture represented the Empire, Victorian, and Early American periods. All I know is I never saw anything like it at Sears.
I tugged at my collar and felt out of place. It’s going to be a long night, I thought.
A tall man with a white beard and a woman with big curls in her hair came out to meet us. “Welcome to our home!” the man said as if he meant it. His hand was stuck out for Uncle Andrew to shake. He did. “I’m Richard Mason. This is my wife, Annabelle.”
Annabelle curtsied.
“A pleasure to meet you,” Uncle Andrew said, then bowed like a gentleman to Mrs. Mason. “I’d like you to meet my assistant, Jack.”
Remembering Uncle Andrew’s warning, I made sure to keep my mouth shut except to say “It’s very nice to meet you.”
Uncle Andrew said, “Thank you for opening your home to us so graciously.”
Mr. Mason clapped Uncle Andrew on the back. “When John said you were coming to our fair town, I insisted you join us for a meal. Didn’t I, Annabelle?”
“You certainly did,” Annabelle said softly.
“Come into the living room,” Mr. Mason said and led the way.
It was another gigantic room with a lot of fancy furniture and a huge, carved-wood fireplace. Uncle Andrew made a fuss over the “Chippendale mirror” above the “rosewood piano” and the authentic “French porcelain mantel clock.” His compliments charmed the socks off of both Mr. and Mrs. Mason.
“I take it from your accent that you’re from Britain,” Mr. Mason said after we were all sitting down.
“England,” Uncle Andrew clarified.
“A Johnny Bull! I have family in Runnymede,” Mr. Mason exclaimed.
“Oh, please, Richard, they’re hardly family,” Mrs. Mason said. “Distant cousins, at best. Please, Mr. Jamison —”
“Andrew,” he corrected her.
It looked to me as if she blushed. “Andrew. Tell us about your purpose here.”
Uncle Andrew sat up proudly and told them all about the studies he wanted to do of the birds in the area and how he hoped to catch a few to take back north. I noticed that just saying the word “north” made Mr. and Mrs. Mason stiffen.
Mr. Mason said, “Tell me, sir, if all Northerners are opposed to slavery.”
“Not all,” Uncle Andrew replied honestly.
Mrs. Mason fanned herself as if she were too hot. “I shudder to think of the abolitionists who would wreak violence on us all.”
“I take it, sir, that you are not of that mind,” Mr. Mason said.
It felt like my collar shrunk around my neck while I waited for Uncle Andrew to answer.
He smiled politely, “Would I be here now if I were?”
The servant who let us in the front door suddenly appeared to say that dinner was served in the dining room. I was so relieved by the interruption that I nearly leaped to my feet.
Uncle Andrew frowned at me.
“Hungry, boy?” Mr. Mason said with a chuckle.
“Yes, sir.” I smiled in my most angelic way.
“Then let’s not dillydally!” Mr. Mason said.
During dinner—which was chicken, potatoes, and a green kind of vegetable I didn’t recognize—Mr. Mason told us all about his grown-up sons who’d become successful lawyers and merchants in other parts of the South. Mrs. Mason beamed while he spoke. I watched them both while I ate and wondered how such nice people could buy and sell other human beings as slaves. It didn’t make sense. Every time the servants came into the dining room to make sure we were okay, I had to remind myself that they weren’t just waiters in some restaurant—they were owned and didn’t have a choice about whether they wanted to be there.
Eventually Uncle Andrew steered the conversation back to birds and talked about his desire to spend time in the surrounding countryside, drawing and cataloging the native species. Mr. Ma
son took the hint and told Uncle Andrew he was more than welcome to bird-watch their property.
“In fact, I’m an amateur bird-watcher myself,” Mr. Mason said. “I’m familiar with the works of Wilson. Wilson was from your country, wasn’t he?”
I had a feeling that Mr. Mason was testing Uncle Andrew.
“If you mean Alexander Wilson, he was from Scotland,” Uncle Andrew replied easily. “His nine-volume work American Ornithology was unsurpassed. That is, until Audubon published his definitive Birds of America.”
Mr. Mason knew his bluff had been called. “Yes, an excellent work. In any event, if it won’t be intrusive, I might come along with you tomorrow!” Mr. Mason exclaimed.
I dropped my fork and it hit the plate with a deafening clang.
Uncle Andrew smiled. “That would be delightful!”
Mrs. Mason cleared her throat. “Richard, you’re supposed to go into town tomorrow, remember?”
“Oh, blast it all!” Mr. Mason shouted. “That confounded meeting with the bankers. You’re right, of course.”
“Oh, too bad. Some other time perhaps,” Uncle Andrew said.
A droplet of sweat tickled at the back of my neck.
“If you need anyone else to assist you, besides your young companion here, I’ll be happy for one of my servants to accompany you,” Mr. Mason offered.
Uncle Andrew said he was most kind. And as everyone was distracted by their plates of food again, he winked at me.
CHAPTER THREE
Jack tells about bird-watching.
“NOW, TELL ME HOW one identifies birds,” Uncle Andrew asked the next day as we tramped across a field not far from Mason’s house.
It was a pop quiz. Just that morning Uncle Andrew lectured me about how to be a bird-watcher. He said that if I was going to be his assistant, I had to at least sound like I knew what I was talking about.
I tried to think as I adjusted the sack hanging from my shoulder. In it were Uncle Andrew’s pads of papers, pens, and watercolors so he could sketch some of the birds we hoped to find. “The marks around the eyes…” I said.
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