Underground

by Gayle O'Brien

  The dinner conversation in this reporter’s corner, led by Miss Weston, was surprisingly tame given that our beloved state of Virginia has only just held its first secessionist convention. It shows just how well-bred we Virginians are that we are able to maintain civility and courtesy in these trying times.

  One of the highlights of the evening was the gathering of the entire party onto the back terrace so that the occasion might be immortalized in tintype. The photographer charged with capturing this wonderful event has assured me that the resulting photographic image will be supplied to both Sanford Weston and myself.

  The dancing began at 10pm, with Miss Weston and Mr. Royal Fabre sharing the first waltz. Despite the increased heat in the ballroom, Miss Weston then proceeded to dance with every eligible bachelor present (this society reporter counted 26 in all). It is no surprise then that shortly before midnight Miss Weston swooned while sharing a dance with her father. That she had to then excuse herself and be escorted to her bedroom suite was an unfortunate finale to an otherwise perfect evening. Master and Mrs. Weston, ever the most gracious of hosts, insisted their guests stay until the mint juleps ran out. This reporter also has it on good authority that Master Weston was generous with the cigars and bourbon on the back terrace.

  All in all, a spectacular event, which will no doubt be followed by an engagement announcement from the Weston family. Who will be the lucky bachelor to secure Samantha Weston? You can be sure to hear it from this reporter first.

  STOP PRESS: Just before we went to press, this reporter heard that on the night of the cotillion two of Master Weston’s slaves – newly purchased – managed to escape while in transit to his plantation. It is also rumored that Major Fabre’s slave overseer, Miles Cudgen, was killed in the escape. Typical of the Negro to take advantage of his white savior at what was supposed to be a time of celebration. We wish Master Weston luck in tracking down the heathen fugitives.

  Samantha kept her eyes closed as her father carried her upstairs and into her bedroom. Oma and Chimi followed.

  “I’ll leave her in your hands,” he said, easing her onto the chaise. She felt his breath on her face. “You were wonderful, darling,” he whispered, then left the room. Samantha opened one eye.

  “Dress … corset …” she murmured. She turned over to let Oma unbutton the dress while Chimi pulled the flowers from her hair. The hoop skirt was removed and the corset loosened.

  “Light …” she whispered. “Too bright.”

  Oma lowered the lantern and Chimi appeared with her nightgown.

  “No,” said Samantha. “Too hot.” Samantha was not lying. Before she pretended to swoon, there had been several moments when she feared she might pass out for real. It was an unusually mild evening for March. Every guest glistened, even the women who did nothing but stay in the corner to be fanned by the slaves. By the time her father carried her upstairs, most of the guests were seeking relief on the back terrace. She’d checked the front terrace briefly before the dance with her father: it was empty, save for the slaves guarding the front steps and the dozens of carriages collected outside.

  “Please,” she said. “Let me sleep.” Even Oma and Chimi didn’t think to doubt her exhaustion. They quietly extinguished the lantern and left the room. Samantha listened to them close her door and settle into the chairs outside her room.

  “I think even her mama will let her be now,” she heard Oma say. “That girl done everything she s’posed to do.”

  All night she had waited for Eli to turn up at the ball. He didn’t. At 11pm, Samantha approached Royal.

  “You want another dance already?” he joked.

  Samantha did not smile. “Do you know when Eli is expected to arrive?”

  Royal stood too close. “If all goes well, never.”

  “Why must you be like this?”

  “And why must you bring up my stupid little brother at what is effectively the only engagement party we’re going to have?”

  Samantha sighed and turned away. Royal grabbed her arm.

  “Well, if you’re going to be like that I suppose I can tell you this: he’s set-up some cockamamie scheme whereby he’s going to bring your father’s slaves here, since everyone is too darned busy to do it themselves.”

  Samantha started to remember. Dueling practice, yesterday. Eli offered his father’s overseer to bring the slaves as far as Dominion Royale, then Eli would bring them the rest of the way himself.

  “So he’s not coming,” she said, unable to hide the disappointment in her voice.

  “Guess you’ll just have to settle for me,” said Royal, his voice a mixture of hope and sadness. He reached to put his arm around Samantha’s waist, but she’d already walked away in the direction of her father, ready to share the dance in which she would pretend to swoon.

  Downstairs, the grandfather clock chimed for 45 minutes past the hour. Samantha reached under her bed and pulled out her riding dress. Once dressed, her pistol secured in her bosom, she crouched by her bedroom window to check if it was clear. A carriage went down the drive. When it was gone, she slipped through the window, shimmied down the fat pillar and landed like a cat upon the dewy grass. Horses and their carriages were lined up six-deep along the side of the house. She maneuvered her way through the rows of carriages until she reached the border where the scythed grass ended and the wildflowers and reeds began.

  It was only once she was sure she was out of sight that her pulse quickened.

  Did Eli want her to run away with him? No, surely he would have mentioned that in his note. What if he meant for them to elope? And then, consummate?

  No, she thought, repulsed by the idea. Eli knows we’ll never have Mont Verity that way.

  No matter which way she approached it, she simply couldn’t reconcile why she was running through the woods instead of charming that insipid bunch of bachelors at the cotillion. Maybe this was Eli’s way of helping her get away from it, even if for only a few hours in the night.

  She arrived at the stream and looked for Eli’s horse. It wasn’t there.

  It must be midnight by now, she thought. Where on earth could he be?

  She looked up at the sky. The moon glowed through the trees. A light breeze swayed the high branches and Samantha caught sight of the North Star.

  Twigs cracked under footsteps and Samantha turned. Eli emerged from behind a tree. Samantha ran to him and gasped. Blood covered his shirt. He smelled of kerosene. He did not look at Samantha, but instead looked through the woods behind her.

  “Eli! What happened?”

  “It’s nothing.” His voice was flat and unfamiliar.

  “But your shirt!”

  “It’s not my blood.”

  “Then … whose is it?”

  “I’ll explain in a minute.” He turned around. “You can come out now.”

  Two figures emerged from the darkness. Slaves, one male and one female.

  They couldn’t have been much older than Samantha, maybe even younger. The male was tall and thin, with sharp cheekbones sitting high on his slender face. Even by moonlight she could see the bones protruding under the skin of his wrists and the muscles in his sinewy legs. His large, bright eyes made contact with Samantha’s and she quickly looked away. The girl was small and slight, her worn, cotton dress made for someone twice her size. Her hair was hidden under a handkerchief and her eyes were as dark and watery as the stream over which she stood.

  “Samantha,” said Eli, “this is Odus and Amira.”

  “Eli,” she whispered, “what are they doing here?”

  “I need you to hide them.”

  “What?”

  “These are the slaves your father bought last week, the ones that Cudgen was supposed to bring to my plantation so I could bring them here.”

  “I don’t understand.”

  “Cudgen was intercepted before he made it to our place. I need you to hide them somewhere. And I need you to make sure that no one knows where they are.”

  “But �
� but why?”

  “I don’t have time to explain right now. Just do this for me, Samantha. Meet me back here with them one week from today, at midnight.”

  “What? Where are you going?”

  “I’m going to give your parents every reason to change their minds about me. Do as I say and I promise we will be married before Easter.”

  “But, Eli, where on earth am I going to hide them?”

  “Somewhere in the house. Think about it, Samantha, the last place anyone would think to look for escaped slaves is in the main house of the plantation they were running away from. Your attic, or even your dressing room.” He looked at Odus and scowled. “Someplace where you can keep an eye on them.”

  “How am I going to get them into the house?”

  “Now is the perfect time. Everyone is at the ball. The upstairs should be clear.”

  “But how do I know they’re not going to run away from me?”

  Eli looked at Odus. “Because we have an understanding, don’t we, nigger?”

  Odus nodded so slightly Samantha wasn’t sure he actually moved. Eli slid something into her hand. She looked down – it was the knife she’d given him for his birthday. The blade caught the moonlight.

  “Why are you giving me this?”

  “In case you need it.”

  “Eli, you know I always have my gun.”

  “And now you have this, too. You can never be too careful with these niggers. You never know what they might get up to.”

  Samantha shook her head. “I don’t want it. I gave it to you. It’s yours, not mine.” She thrust it into his hand, tears welling in her eyes. “Eli, I don’t see how I can …”

  “Dammit, Samantha!” he shouted, and even the two slaves jumped. “I can’t do this all by myself. If you can’t figure a way to do this one thing for me then maybe you and Royal deserve each other.”

  “I’m sorry. I’ll find a way, Eli. I will. And I’ll be back here with them in a week. I promise.”

  “Good.” He kissed her forehead. “Now, get going.” He turned to Odus. “Don’t let me down, nigger.”

  “Yes’suh.”

  They watched Eli run into the woods. Samantha stared into the space he’d just left. She couldn’t even begin to imagine how she could keep the two slaves hidden, never mind how doing so would convince her parents that she should marry Eli.

  She turned to the slaves. “You both do exactly as I say or we’ll all be whipped within an inch of our lives. Do you understand?”

  They nodded.

  She motioned towards the house. “Okay, follow me.”

  Chapter 9

  Annie hadn’t planned on doing it.

  In the time she’d been sitting in Theo’s bedroom, watching him print off all he’d found on Samantha Weston with the excitement of a child on Christmas morning, she’d tried to hold onto the decision that she wouldn’t use his computer.

  But then his father called from downstairs. “I need to take a delivery,” came the voice from below. “Can you just watch the counter for fifteen minutes while I unload?”

  “Darn, I was just getting going,” Theo said. “I’ll be right back. Feel free to have a look yourself – you might find something I missed.” He picked up his empty plate. “Are you sure you don’t want something to eat?”

  Annie knew she needed to extend his time downstairs. “Actually, could I have a sandwich? I guess I am kinda hungry.”

  “Sure. What do you want?”

  What’s the most complicated sandwich I can ask for? she thought.

  “Um … can you do something grilled? I guess I’m craving something warm.”

  “I’m not surprised. I’d be cold too if I went outside wearing as little as you. Don’t you have a winter coat or something?”

  “Um, no, I haven’t got one yet.”

  “Why not?”

  She failed to come up with a good lie. “I guess I didn’t know it would be this cold.”

  “Well, you can’t keep going out without a coat around here. You’ll freeze, especially being as thin as you are.”

  Annie felt a bitter twinge of satisfaction. He thinks I’m thin.

  “Anyway, one grilled sandwich coming right up.”

  “Don’t hurry, I can take care of myself.”

  He grinned. “I’d believe that if you weren’t the girl who just admitted to not having a winter coat in Vermont.”

  She listened to his footsteps disappear down the stairs and tried not to look at the computer screen. But this was her chance.

  “I can’t do it,” she decided. “It’s not fair to Theo.”

  She pulled the memory stick from her pocket. It contained over 100 photographs, all taken within the space of a minute. Half of them she’d already posted on Facebook – one a week, in chronological order, starting from the beginning.

  The process of posting was always the same. Log into the account she’d created at the bed and breakfast in Charleston. Read the new messages – there were always new messages. Post the photo. Double check the privacy settings (the page, the photos – everything was for his eyes only). Send a message of her own. Log off and clear the history of whatever computer she was on.

  If she had time, she sometimes checked the pages of her old friends. From what she could tell, not much had changed. Life went on. People dated, they broke up. Girls fought, they made up. Games were won and lost. As she sat on Theo’s bed she realized there were ways in which her old life seemed like a daytime soap opera you could miss for years and still know what was going on once you started watching again.

  She knew there wouldn’t be time for checking anything else now. The only action she could take would be to log on to her other account, post a photo, and log off.

  She stood up, went to the door and listened. There was no sign that Theo was on his way upstairs. She went to the window and looked down. A tractor-trailer sat in the loading dock and she could see crates and boxes being carried off. She closed her fist around the memory stick and went to Theo’s computer.

  She opened a new browser window and logged on to Facebook. She had three new messages.

  I’ll get to those later, she promised herself.

  The memory stick slotted into the USB port and Annie tapped Theo’s desk while she waited for the computer to read it.

  Finally, a pop-up box appeared, listing the photos. Annie checked the Facebook page to be sure of the last photo she loaded. Her eyes caught a glimpse of what was already there, the grainy green of night-time exposure reminding her of seasickness. She went to Photos, and clicked on Upload.

  “Dad, I’m just going upstairs to give Annie her sandwich,” she heard Theo yell from downstairs.

  Annie selected the next photo in the sequence and double clicked.

  “Come on, come on,” she whispered through gritted teeth.

  The photo finished loading just as Theo’s footsteps hit the stairs.

  Annie quickly typed a caption. In case you think I forgot ….

  She yanked the memory stick out of the port and closed the browser window.

  “Any luck?”

  “What?” Annie snapped. She only then realized she’d been holding her breath.

  “Are you okay?” he said, handing her a plate. It smelled divine.

  “Yes. Fine. Thanks.” She held up the plate. “What is it?”

  “Grilled mozzarella, tomato and pesto. I was going to put chicken in it, but I wasn’t sure if you were a vegetarian.”

  Annie smiled. “I’m not.” Without thinking she sank her teeth into the toasted bread and melting cheese, their flavours assuaging an ailment she didn’t know she had. Warmth surged, and she became painfully aware of how much her body ached for this kind of relief.

  Theo sat on the edge of his bed.

  “So, did you find anything?”

  “What?”

  “Samantha Weston. Did you find anything while I was downstairs?”

  Annie checked the computer screen and was relieved to se
e it showed only Theo’s desktop.

  “No, not really. I think we’ve done all we can for now.”

  “Okay. Well, when you finish your sandwich, we can go.”

  “Go where?”

  “To your house. I want to see this room.”

  “Theo, I don’t know …”

  “I’ll be quiet. Your mother will never know I’m there.” He stood and opened the door of his closet. “Here,” he said, handing her a black pea-coat. “It doesn’t fit me anymore.”

  Annie picked it up, and the wool scratched her skin. She slid her hands through the satin-lined arms and wrapped herself in its folds. It smelled of Theo – a mix of sawdust and freshly baked bread.

  “Come on,” he pleaded. “You owe me.”

  Annie gazed at his desk and his blank screen. She looked at the stillwarm sandwich and felt the weight of Theo’s coat.

  “Okay, we’ll go.”

  Annie pulled as hard as she could.

  “Are you sure I can’t help you with that?” Theo watched Annie try to shift the bottom two steps of the basement stairs. On the day she’d found Samantha’s letter she’d put the steps back in place, but now they were stuck. The wood cut into her hand.

  “It’s jammed, somehow,” she said, her breath laboring from the effort.

  “Here, let me,” said Theo, crouching next to her. She watched him cup his hands around the corner of the steps and gently wriggle them. He pulled a small flashlight out of his pocket and Annie couldn’t help but smile. So he has one, too, she thought.

  “Ah, this is the problem,” he said, and Annie craned her neck to see. “There’s a divot here and the corner is stuck in it. I’ll take this side and you take the other.”

  Annie did as she was told.

  “On three – one, two …”

  The steps moved on their hinge to the side, as if they had been waiting for Theo all along.

  “I think you need to be careful how you put the stairs back, especially if you’re in there when you do it. I’m not sure you could get it out of that divot from the inside.”