Underground

by Gayle O'Brien

“How about we call and ask them to print it all out? Put it on a memory stick or something?”

  “From what she was saying the computer it’s on is so old we’d be lucky if it took floppy discs. And anyway, we don’t really know exactly what we’re looking for. If someone else did it they might miss something. I think we should go and do it. It’s the best way.”

  Annie started to pace. This was not what she expected. The Samantha Weston mystery was meant to stay here and be solved here. She couldn’t go to Virginia. Of course she couldn’t. It was practically going home, back to where anyone might recognize her. Even worse, he might see her. If that happened, the past year would have been for nothing.

  But then she considered something else: maybe being back in Virginia meant she’d see something that made sense of Samantha Weston, something she never would have thought to look for in her old life.

  Could she really do this? Go home and back, undetected? It was just a library – how dangerous could that be?

  “Theo, I…. you want to do this tomorrow?”

  “Well, sorta. More like, tonight.”

  Annie thought of her mother. If Annie was gone for as long as it would take to get to Virginia and back, her mother would die of panic. Angry though she was, she couldn’t do that to her.

  “Theo, I want to, I really do, but I … oh, this isn’t fair. I can’t leave my Mom. I’m really sorry, but I can’t.”

  Theo sighed and crossed his arms. “I thought you cared about this.”

  “I do! I just … I can’t talk about it. I’m sorry.”

  “Hey, here’s an idea,” he said. “How about you actually start trusting me.”

  It wasn’t a question. His eyes were wide, his mouth pursed.

  Annie swallowed. “I do trust you.”

  “I don’t think you do. You’re nothing but secrets. I’ve been going along with it so far, but now it’s really starting to wear me down.”

  “I … I don’t have secrets.”

  “Oh, really?” He stood up. “Then why does your mother refuse to show her face? Why don’t you go to school? And why do you never talk about your father?”

  It was Annie’s turn to be angry. “Why don’t you ever talk about your mother?”

  Theo’s arms fell to his sides. She watched him look at the picture on top of the chest of drawers.

  “You really want to know?”

  Annie hesitated. If hearing his secrets meant she had to divulge hers then she didn’t want him to speak.

  “She left,” he blurted. “A year ago. Just vanished. Happy now?”

  “I don’t understand.”

  “Neither do we. We didn’t think anything was wrong. She and my dad have been together since high school. They even went to Vermont College so they could stay together. They always seemed happy. And me and my brothers … okay, we’re not perfect, but we’re not so bad that she needed to run away.”

  “Maybe she didn’t,” Annie ventured. “Maybe something happened.”

  “Yes, that’s possible. But we all have the same feeling, you know? Even my dad thinks she’s run away. And it’s probably all my fault.”

  “I’m sure that isn’t true.”

  “Really?” His anger rose. “And how do you know? You don’t. She and I had a fight the day she left. I wanted to try out for football, and she wouldn’t let me. She said no son of hers would play a game where a group of girls in miniskirts served no purpose other than to cheer us on. She was like that sometimes. A real feminist, I guess. And I did as I was told – I didn’t try out. But I stayed after school and watched the whole tryout – and saw lots of my friends wearing uniforms and getting picked. When I got home she was gone.”

  Annie put her hand on his arm. “I’m sorry.”

  Theo shook his head. “It’s not your fault. I don’t mean to yell at you. You don’t have to tell me about your father,” he said. “I should have been more understanding.”

  “I promise you – if ever the day comes that I can tell you everything, I will.”

  “Okay, I respect that.”

  He walked back to his desk and hit print on his computer.

  “You’re really going to go?” she said.

  Theo watched the map and directions come out of the printer. “Yes, I am. I guess I just want to know that some people can be found.”

  Annie looked at the map of Virginia on the printer. Its familiarity sent shivers down her spine. Going would be a complete mistake. So many things could go wrong. But, she thought, it could be the best decision she ever made. They might find the answers they were looking for. Maybe it would even reveal how much longer she and her mother would have to hide. Maybe she’d see something that would signal it was finally safe for them to go home. Surely that made the risk worthwhile?

  “Theo,” she said, “I’m coming with you.”

  Chapter 12

  When Samantha woke up she couldn’t be sure how much time had passed. Outside it was dark, without even a glimmer of the blue light that marks the dawn. The house was quiet. Samantha jumped up and looked out the window. All the carriages were gone. The front of the house was deserted.

  Her debutante ball was over.

  Odus, she thought. Amira.

  She ran to her bedroom door and pulled it open. Oma slept slumped in the chair. Samantha shook her shoulder.

  “Oma, wake up.”

  The slave’s head lolled into wakefulness. “Miss Sammy,” she croaked, “you alright?”

  “Oma, I think I’m going to be sick. I need an extra chamber pot.”

  Oma blinked and rubbed her eyes as she pushed herself out of the chair. “Yes, ma’am.”

  Samantha closed her door and listened to Oma’s footsteps shuffling down the hall. She heard her open the door to the main cupboard and the quiet clanking of china and enamel. She was in bed by the time Oma entered her bedroom.

  “Here you go, Miss Sammy.” Oma looked around the room, her eyes still full of sleep. “Where your other pot, Miss Sammy?”

  “Leave it for now,” she said, curling into a ball and clutching her stomach. “I need more water,” she said, faking a small moan. “So thirsty.”

  Oma reached for Samantha’s pitcher.

  “No,” she said. “I need something else. A canteen. Like the one in my saddlebag.”

  Oma was now awake and indignant. “Miss Sammy, where’m I gonna find a canteen at this time of night?”

  Samantha leaned over the bed and conjured a dry heave. “Just do it, Oma.”

  The slave left and Samantha paced the room. Downstairs, the grandfather clock chimed five o’clock. Soon the work bell would ring, summoning the kitchen slaves to make breakfast and the field slaves to work.

  Samantha was so preoccupied with her thoughts that she didn’t hear Oma come through the door. She clutched her stomach.

  “Here,” said Oma, carrying a bucket of water. “This be the best I can do.” She set it next to Samantha’s bed and pulled a ladle out of her apron. “You need more, you jus’ holler.” Oma pulled back Samantha’s bed sheets. “Now, let’s get you back in bed where you belong. No wonder you ill after all they put you through. You just rest here.” Oma tucked Samantha in. “You want me to stay wid you, Miss Sammy?”

  “No,” she said. “But thank you for all you’ve done.”

  Oma let out a small laugh.

  “What is it?” Samantha asked. Has she guessed my secret? Is it obvious I’m hiding something?

  “Nothing,” said Oma.

  Samantha grabbed her arm. “Oma, you must tell me.”

  “Ain’t no big deal, Miss Sammy, it just, that be the first time I ever hear you thank anyone for anything.”

  Oma freed herself from Samantha’s grasp and closed the door behind her as she left the room.

  Samantha kicked off the sheets and picked up the chamber pot and bucket. They were heavier than she was expecting and halfway across the room she realized she could only carry one at a time. What would they need more urgently –
water or the pot? She picked up the bucket and went into her wardrobe with the lantern.

  “I am so sorry,” she said, opening the hatch. The air that seeped out of the eaves was double the temperature of her bedroom. As she crawled through, a smell she couldn’t place overwhelmed the room. Urine? she thought. Blood?

  The lantern light spread thinly into the space, and Samantha saw the two slaves slumped against the sloped wall. Amira lay on her side with her knees curled into her chest. Odus crawled toward Samantha, his face dripping in sweat.

  “Here,” she said, pushing the bucket towards him. He took the ladle and held it to Amira’s lips. The girl tilted her head forward and took a small sip. Samantha looked down and saw blood stains on her skirt.

  Of course, Samantha thought.

  “I’ll return in a moment,” she said, and crawled out.

  Back in her bedroom, she rustled through her chest of drawers, taking two fans in one hand and scooping up the neatly folded pile of clean blood rags in the other. She held the rags and fans under one arm, picked up the chamber pot with the other and walked clumsily through the wardrobe.

  “Here,” she said, handing the rags to Amira. “Next time I come I’ll give you the bin for the ones you’ve used. For now just …” she looked around the space, “… find somewhere to put them.” She handed Odus the two fans. “Do what you can to stay cool. Breakfast will be served in a couple of hours. I’ll smuggle what I can and bring it to you. In the meantime, do not make a sound. And do not ever come out of here unless I tell you to, do you understand?”

  Samantha didn’t even wait to see if they nodded. The smell of Amira’s blood made her nauseous. She pulled the hatch door closed. Once out of the wardrobe, she inhaled the fresh air and collapsed on her bed. Not only did she have two fugitive slaves to contend with, there was also the issue of her engagement and wedding. What if Eli wasn’t back by then? Even if it was Eli’s intention that she somehow rebel against the engagement, she didn’t know how she could. She couldn’t even think of a good reason to postpone it – at least, not one that her parents would believe. And as for the two slaves, how was she supposed to keep them hidden for a week? Would it mean not leaving her room for six days? She’d go mad, of that she was sure. The more her mind spun with the events of the last twelve hours, the more she wanted to scream. Instead, she curled up into the tightest ball she could manage and lulled herself back to sleep as the sun came up over the Blue Ridge Mountains.

  Samantha woke up to a gentle hand shaking her shoulder.

  “Miss Sammy?”

  She opened her eyes. Nessie was sitting on her bed, just like she had done so many times when Samantha was a little girl.

  “Time to get up, Miss Sammy.” The slave opened the curtains. Samantha blinked as her eyes adjusted to the bright sunshine pouring through her window.

  “What time is it?”

  “It nearly lunchtime. Your daddy said we was to let you sleep until now, if that what you needed. But now you wanted downstairs. They’s waiting for you.”

  “Who?”

  “Your mama and papa. And the Fabres.”

  Samantha pushed herself up. “Eli?”

  “No, Miss Sammy. Just Major and the Missus, and Master Royal.”

  Samantha sank. “Oh.”

  Nessie poured water into the washing basin.

  “Where have you been, Nessie?”

  “What you mean, Miss Sammy?”

  “It feels like I haven’t seen you for days. Is that right?”

  “Yes and no, Miss Sammy. I mainly been helping your mama with the cotillion. But then yesterday I was called to the quarters. One of the young’uns done had a baby.”

  Nessie had been the plantation’s midwife for as long as Samantha could remember. “Did it go well?” She didn’t know why she’d asked. Even Nessie seemed surprised. Although it was well known that for every slave baby came out red and screaming another one came out blue and cold, Samantha never asked after the details. Some things were just not worth knowing.

  “It okay, Miss Sammy.” She wrung a washcloth in the basin and handed it to Samantha. “You wash. I’ll go get your clothes.”

  Samantha stood up and wiped her face. Behind her, Nessie opened the door to the wardrobe and Samantha froze. Of course she’d go in there to get my clothes. Why didn’t I offer to do that for her? Nessie disappeared into the wardrobe’s recess and Samantha expected the worst.

  “Good Lordy, Miss Sammy,” she said, emerging with one of Samantha’s best spring dresses. “You bleeding early this month or something?”

  “Um … yes,” she lied. “Yes, I am.”

  “Thought so,” she said, laying the dress down on the bed. “Smells like a million blood rags in there. I’ll have them washed as soon as we got you dressed.”

  “Actually, I’ve only just started,” she said quickly. “You might as well leave them for now. Tomorrow is when I’m heavy, so it’s probably better to wait until this afternoon to wash them.”

  Nessie stopped and cast a sideways glance at Samantha. “You alright, Miss Sammy?”

  “Yes,” she stammered. “Why?”

  “You acting funny.”

  “I guess I’m just tired?” She didn’t mean for it to come out as a question. Nessie laid the dress gently over Samantha’s chaise, then picked up the corset and slid it under Samantha’s arms.

  Her mother, father and the Fabres were already seated at the dining table when Samantha arrived, her swaying hoop skirt skimming the door frame as she entered the room. The men stood; her mother and Missus Fabre remained seated.

  “Good afternoon, Samantha,” said her father.

  “Father,” she said. “Major Fabre. Royal.” A slave pulled out her chair, and she sat down to a plate of sliced fruit.

  “I trust you are well rested, Miss Samantha?” said Royal, smirking.

  Samantha’s eyes darted around the room to look for evidence he’d given her up. She didn’t see any.

  “Yes, thank you, Royal.” A slave put Samantha’s napkin into her lap. Iced tea was poured. Her father picked up his knife and fork, and everyone followed.

  “We were just discussing last night,” said her father. “We have some unfortunate news.”

  Samantha’s fork stalled in mid-air. Eli, she thought.

  Major Fabre cleared his throat. “My overseer, Cudgen, was killed last night transporting two of your father’s slaves here.”

  “Oh?” said Samantha.

  “Yes, it happened about a mile outside our plantation. Whoever did it tried to set fire to his body and his wagon, but only a small part of the wagon burned. Whoever killed him hit him mighty hard in the head with an axe. I’ve never seen that much blood come out the side of one man’s head.”

  “Darling …” Missus Fabre warned.

  Her last meeting with Eli flashed behind her eyes. She remembered the strong smell of kerosene and the blood on his shirt. “It’s not my blood,” he’d said. Samantha shivered so hard she had to set her fork down.

  “Do they know who it was?” her voice cracked.

  “We’re guessing it was the slaves or someone sympathetic to their cause. It wouldn’t be the first time those northern cowards come down here, interfering.”

  “Elijah says he’s going to find the fugitives,” said Missus Fabre, delicately dabbing the side of her mouth with her napkin. “That’s why he’s not here today.”

  “He is? How?”

  Royal snorted in between mouthfuls. “I wouldn’t hold your breath. Elijah will get as far as the Potomac and be too scared to cross.”

  “Royal,” his mother whispered.

  “I told him not to go,” said Major Fabre. “We’ve got some of the best slave catchers in the South. But I thought I’d let him have his fun.”

  His fun?

  “Did Eli say when he’ll be back?”

  “Don’t you worry,” said Missus Fabre. “He promised he’d be back the day before the wedding, whether he has found the slaves or no
t.”

  “Those slaves won’t get very far anyway,” said Royal.

  “They won’t?” said Samantha, her voice getting higher.

  “No, the Potomac’s heavily patrolled these days and they’d have to cross that to get north.”

  The main course was brought to the table before Samantha could ask more. Is that what Eli was doing? Having her hide the slaves so he could pretend to find them? Finally, it all made sense. But why didn’t he tell her that’s what he was doing? Why all this secrecy? Did he not trust her?

  Freshly baked biscuits, breaded catfish and minted peas were passed around the table. Samantha checked her mother wasn’t looking and took three biscuits – one she put on her plate and the other two into her napkin on her lap. She looked at Royal and their eyes met.

  He’d seen the whole thing.

  By the time they finished the meal Royal and Samantha’s ceremony had been planned, the guest list written and the wedding breakfast decided. Samantha said nothing during these discussions. All she could focus on was getting upstairs to give the biscuits to Odus and Amira.

  The men stood up, signaling to the slaves to pull out the ladies’ chairs. Samantha held the napkin containing the biscuits tightly in front of her. Her father ordered mint juleps to be delivered to the terrace. Samantha edged toward the main door.

  “Where are you going?” asked her mother.

  Samantha turned around and hid the napkin behind her back. “Just upstairs.”

  “We have guests.”

  Samantha waited until her father and the Fabres had exited the room. She whispered to her mother. “I think I need my blood rags.”

  “You’re not due until next week.’

  “It’s come early.”

  “What’s behind your back?”

  “Nothing.”

  Her mother held out her hand. “Now, Samantha.”

  Samantha brought the crumpled napkin within her mother’s reach, but held it close. “Please don’t touch it, Mother. I tucked it under my skirt when I felt the blood coming. I was afraid I’d stain the upholstery.”

  Her mother looked as though she might lose her lunch. If there was ever a topic that made her mother uncomfortable it was the subject of the human body and its functions.