Underground

by Gayle O'Brien

  Then Samantha turned 16. Her mother shed the black taffeta and threw herself into planning Samantha’s cotillion. Samantha went along with the formalities. After all, what girl didn’t want one of the grandest parties of the season thrown in her honor? But it quickly became apparent that her mother meant this to be a proper coming out, where suitors would arrive and assess her and her plantation, and her parents would check credentials against their own desires for the family’s future.

  All of this meant she hadn’t been in her father’s study for months. She’d neglected him, replacing their time together with dress fittings and etiquette lessons. As she raced to the shooting range, trying not to feel hurt that he was there without her, she realized that even though it was Eli’s role to ask her father for her hand, her mother’s reaction to the idea of Samantha marrying Eli made one thing clear: Samantha needed to talk to her father, and soon.

  Gunshots rang through the air. The palomino bucked.

  “Whoa, steady boy.” Samantha calmed him. She arrived outside the perimeter of the shooting range, which sat in a clearing in the woods. Four horses were tied to the range’s hitching post. One was Eli’s.

  “What’s he doing here?” Samantha wondered out loud. She dismounted, tied her horse to the post, then trod quietly over the pine needles and stood behind a wide maple so she could observe without being spotted.

  A scarecrow stood crucified in the middle of the clearing. Her father, Eli, Royal and Major Fabre stood at the gun table packing pistols. Samantha watched Eli sneak glances at Royal, looking for clues as to how to pack his pistol better. She knew he’d been asking his father for months to take him shooting, yet he always refused to let Samantha show him. Her own father had brought her to the shooting range as soon as she was strong enough to hold a pistol. She could pack one with her eyes closed.

  “What happened to those slaves you bought last week?” she heard Major Fabre ask. “Have you got ‘em yet?”

  “Not yet,” said her father. “They told me tomorrow, but I can’t spare any resources tomorrow to fetch them. Not with this godforsaken cotillion nonsense. I’ll just have to wait a few more days.”

  “That sure is a shame, Master Weston,” said Eli.

  “One of those things,” said her father. “I think they’ll be the last slaves I buy though.”

  “Thought so,” Samantha muttered.

  “Why’s that, Sanford?” asked Major Fabre.

  “I don’t think slavery is going to be around much longer. If Lincoln is elected, I imagine that would be his first action.”

  “Lincoln?” said Major Fabre. “That old coot wouldn’t dare free the slaves. He’d have every Southern man worth his salt marching to Washington and personally putting a gun to his head.”

  “Besides,” said Eli, forcing his voice into a lower register, “who says Lincoln gets to be the boss of us? We’ll secede before we let some northerner tell us how to live our lives.”

  “Elijah,” warned his father.

  “You’re just repeating what everyone says at the Owners’ Society,” Royal snorted, not taking his eyes off his task. “We’ll all suffer if we don’t come up with an alternative to slave labor.”

  “Do you think so, Royal?” asked her father.

  Eli wedged himself between her father and Royal. “Father, don’t you think we could spare Cudgen? He could fetch the slaves on the night of the cotillion. You know, as a favor.”

  All three men looked at Eli. He cleared his throat and continued. “Our overseer could bring them as far as ours, then I’ll personally escort them to your place, Master Weston. That way you get them sooner.”

  “You’ll miss part of the ball if you do that,” said Royal. Even from a distance Samantha could see Royal was laughing at Eli.

  Eli stood straighter. “I’d rather do a favor for Master Weston and be late for the cotillion. Please, Father, let me do this.”

  Master Fabre’s brow was furrowed. Then his face relaxed, and he put a hand on Eli’s shoulder. “Well, that’s mighty noble of you, son.”

  What’s he doing? Samantha wondered. If he misses the ball then he won’t have the chance to talk to Papa.

  Royal elbowed Eli. “Your turn,” he said, handing Eli the pistol.

  Eli held the gun with both hands. It looked two sizes too big for his thin arms and feeble wrists.

  “You’re supposed to shoot with it, not cradle it,” snorted Royal.

  Eli approached the scarecrow, then put his back against it. Samantha could no longer see him – the scarecrow was taller and wider than he was. She heard him cock his pistol. Her father counted. With each count Eli took a step.

  “One, two, three, four, five, six, seven, eight, nine, ten!” Eli turned and shot.

  A tree next to Samantha lost its bark. Samantha screamed.

  “Hold fire!” her father shouted. “Who’s there?”

  Samantha meekly stepped out from behind the tree.

  “Samantha!” Eli and her father exclaimed at the same time. Samantha walked to the packing table. Despite overhearing the entire exchange between the four men, none of it explained what the Fabres were doing there. In all the decades of their living nearby, not once had they been shooting together. It was a pastime reserved for actual friends, not for neighbors who could barely tolerate each other. The only explanation for the Fabres’ presence was that her father had invited them, yet nothing in their conversation gave Samantha any clue as to why.

  She arrived at the table. Her father put his arm around her.

  “Darling,” he said, “what are you doing here?”

  “What are y’all doing?” she said cheerfully, even though she knew the answer.

  “Dueling!” Eli said.

  “Except Eli’s as bad a shot as a girl,” Royal sneered, and Major Fabre shared in the cruel laughter. Eli’s red face turned downward.

  Samantha wasn’t sure what offended her more – the slight against Eli or his insult to women in general. Typical Royal, she thought, and threw her shoulders back.

  “Are you saying a girl can’t shoot?”

  Royal smirked and crossed his arms. “Haven’t yet met one who can. Besides, everyone knows women and guns don’t mix.”

  “And why’s that?” she said. “I have eyes to see the target, a hand to hold the pistol and a finger to pull the trigger.”

  “Samantha …” said her father sternly.

  “Let her try,” said Royal, offering his pistol. “I want to see what I’m dealing with here.”

  Had Samantha not been hit by another wave of dizziness she would have demanded to know what Royal meant. Instead she had to wait for the swaying to subside before taking Royal’s pistol and walking towards the scarecrow. She caught Eli’s eye as she went, but couldn’t read what he was trying to convey.

  The sun blazed overhead and Samantha felt surrounded by its heat. She put her back to the scarecrow and leaned on it for support, ignoring the grinding noises emanating from her stomach. She cocked her pistol and took a deep breath.

  “Count me,” she yelled. Her father hesitated, then began. Samantha walked in time.

  “One, two, three, four, five, six, seven, eight, nine, ten!”

  Samantha turned and, just like her father taught her, waited that crucial extra millisecond for the target to come into focus. Her finger was on the trigger. She knew, if she shot now, her bullet would go straight through the scarecrow and shatter the pole. Then she remembered what her mother had said that morning and realized what Eli’s face had been trying to convey: “Men despise being shown up by a woman.”

  “Might as well do as I’m told for a change,” she thought, and fired. The bullet went exactly where she’d intended – into the sky, free and fast.

  Behind her, Royal laughed. “Told you so!” he said. Samantha turned to face them and concede her defeat.

  Then everything went black.

  Chapter 5

  Annie sat facing the door of the Laundromat and its condensation-lined
windows. Behind her, half a dozen washing machines whirred. The smell of flowery fabric softener rode on the heat from the dryers. She had done her best to wear clothes that smelt the least and feared that if it wasn’t for the pervading smell of laundry detergent it would be obvious how much she hadn’t succeeded. Her plan was to finish her laundry, change her clothes, then head to the Store at Five Corners. Hopefully Theo would be home from school and she could ask him where she could have access to a computer.

  She’d half-hoped it wouldn’t be necessary, that she’d turn up on Main Street and find an internet café. While her clothes were washed in the Laundromat she’d find out everything there was to know about Samantha Weston, the place where she lived, how she’d ended up in the middle of Vermont and what had happened to her afterward. Annie would even have time to log onto Facebook and do what she needed to do.

  There was no internet café. Aside from the Laundromat, all Main Street had to offer was a bakery, a post office and a hardware store. It was a wide road built for horses and wagons with small, Colonial houses dotted several feet back from the edge of the road.

  All so different from where she lived in Virginia.

  Clinton, Virginia did not have a Main Street. It had townhouse developments and mini malls, one after the other, stretching along the highway that ran from the Potomac River in DC all the way to the Blue Ridge Mountains. There was a point, Annie knew, somewhere after Manassas, where the townhouses ended, but Annie had never been past Manassas. There was never any need to go that far. Everything she’d ever needed was right in Clinton County – her friends, her high school and a mall with all her favorite stores. After all the moving around they’d done when she was little, Annie had been happy to stay in one place.

  She pulled out Samantha’s letter and looked at the address. Beckwith Station, Virginia. She wondered where it was, if it was anywhere near Clinton. For all she knew it could be in the next county. Annie had never been good at paying attention to geography or maps. Boring, she would have said to anyone who tried to convince her differently.

  She opened the letter and re-read it again and again, until she soon knew it by heart.

  … I cannot tell you where I am …

  … I have changed, Papa. I am certain you would not like what you would see if you were here. I have had my eyes opened to the real workings of the world, in all its cruelty and wonder …

  … We will probably never see each other again. After all that has occurred, there are many reasons why a return to my old life in Virginia is impossible …

  Memorizing the words did nothing to help her read between them. She decided there were no answers to be gleaned from it, only more questions, and she put the letter away in frustration.

  She studied the letters and numbers on the inside cover of the Bible. Perhaps the numbers were dates, but she couldn’t work them out.

  Another thing I need the internet for, she thought.

  “So this is where you hide.”

  Annie jumped and then looked up into the green eyes of the boy from the Store at Five Corners.

  “It’s me, Theo. We met last week?”

  Annie blinked as if to make him disappear. This was not how she had planned their next meeting. It would be at the store, she would be in clean clothes, and at least have run a comb through her bobbed hair.

  “Why aren’t you at school?” she croaked.

  “It’s Saturday.”

  Annie had completely lost track of the days.

  “Whatcha doing?” he said.

  She cleared her throat. “Laundry.”

  “Really? I thought maybe you were here for some sort of religious experience.”

  “What?”

  “You’re the first person I’ve ever met who brings the Bible to the Laundromat.”

  Annie looked at the book cradled in her hands.

  He sat next to her and let out a mock gasp. “I was right! You are part of a religious cult.”

  Annie let out a little laugh. “It’s not mine.”

  “Oh my God, you stole it! Thief! We’ve got a thief!” The other two people in the Laundromat took no notice. Annie resisted the urge to grab his arm. She didn’t know how to tell him not to draw attention to her.

  “So, what have you been up to?” he said.

  “Um … nothing.”

  He leaned in. “Do you want to know what I’ve been doing?”

  Annie shrugged.

  “Going to high school. You should try it sometime.”

  She opened her mouth. Nothing came out.

  “Relax, I’m joking,” he said. “But you know what you could tell me?”

  “What?”

  “Your name.”

  Annie couldn’t remember the last time anyone had asked that question or the last time she’d given a truthful answer. “It’s Annie.”

  Theo held out his hand. “Nice to meet you.” His handshake was gentle.

  “Can I ask you something?” she said.

  Theo smiled. “Of course you can.”

  “The first time we met, you mentioned the people who used to live in my house. Can you tell me anything about them?”

  He shrugged and shook his head. “I can’t tell you much. It’s known as the Jennings Farm, but I can’t ever remember anyone named Jennings living there. It’s always been families or couples who don’t stay for very long. I don’t even know who owns it. We could find out though.”

  “What?”

  “Who used to live there – the Town Hall has census data going back to the early 1800s. Let’s go have a look.” He stood up.

  “What, you mean, now?”

  “Sure.”

  “But my laundry …” said Annie.

  Theo laughed. “No one will steal your stuff. This isn’t that kind of town.” He motioned towards the door and grinned. “Shall we?”

  As soon as they left the Laundromat it began to snow and Annie became painfully aware of how inadequately she was dressed. She’d taken off some of her layers to wash them and wore just a button-down under her sweater. The black Chinese shoes she wore felt as thin as tin foil and her feet slid over the ice hiding underneath the new white flakes.

  It took them ten minutes to get to the Town Hall, and Annie was frozen by the time they entered.

  The Town Hall was a brick building perched on a small hill at the end of Main Street. Four pillars propped up the overhanging roof. Three rocking chairs sat frozen to the porch.

  Inside, Theo and Annie’s footsteps echoed on the marble floor. The foyer was two stories high. A stained-glass window above the wide staircase threw primary colors onto the walls. Underneath the staircase was a large wooden desk. Theo approached the gray-haired woman sitting behind it. “Hey Shirley,” he said.

  “Well, hey there, Theodore. How’s your Dad doing?”

  “He’s okay.”

  “And you boys?” said Shirley.

  “We’re okay. Noah and Matt are both back at college, so it’s just me and Dad now.”

  “Do you need anything? I can drop off another casserole tomorrow if you do.”

  “No, thanks.”

  There was something in Theo’s tone that Annie couldn’t quite place – a sadness, disappointment.

  “Now, what can I do for you today?” said Shirley.

  Theo put his hand on the small of Annie’s back. Without thinking, she moved away.

  “This is my friend, Annie. She just moved into the Jennings’ place.”

  “Oh, that’s nice,” said Shirley. “That place could use a little TLC.”

  “She wants to find out more about the history of the place. Do you mind if we have a look at the town census records?”

  “Of course you can, Theo. As long as you remember …”

  “… put everything back when I’m done. I remember.”

  “Nice meeting, you dear,” said Shirley.

  “Thanks,” said Annie.

  She followed Theo up the stairs and down a long hallway. Sunshine streaming
through the windows caught the dust dancing in the air. Theo entered a room at the end of the hall. A card table sat in the middle, surrounded by four metal foldout chairs. Wooden filing cabinets lined every available inch of wall space.

  “Let’s see,” said Theo, running his fingers over the number plates on the front of each drawer. “It’s an 1850 above the door, right?”

  “Um … right,” she said, even though she wasn’t sure.

  Theo opened one of the cabinets and started flicking through the files. Annie stood in the doorway, unsure of where she belonged.

  “Found it!” he exclaimed, laying a manila folder onto the table and carefully angling a piece of paper so Annie could see it. The paper was thin and brown, the writing thick and faded. He pointed to an entry halfway down the page.

  Jennings Farm, River Road.

  Jennings, Z., head of household. 51.

  Jennings, R. 49. Matron.

  “I wonder if they knew my great-grandfather,” said Theo.

  “Is that possible?”

  “Sure. My great-great grandfather built the store. The first Mason is in the 1785 census.” He rolled his eyes. “And we’ve been here ever since.”

  “Wow,” said Annie.

  “What?”

  “It’s just … I was wondering what it feels like to be so rooted to one place.”

  “Hey, where are you from anyway?”

  “Oh, all over, really. No place in particular.”

  “So you’re a nomad?”

  Annie pretended not to hear the question.

  “So is this all there is to know?” she said. “That there was a couple living there in 1850?”

  “No, I’m sure we can find out more. It just might take a little while.”

  “I really should go back for my laundry. But thanks for your help.”

  Theo put his hand on her arm. “I’ve got an idea. You go finish your laundry. It’ll take, what, another hour? There’s a little café in the bakery, about three doors down from the Laundromat. I’ll see you there.”