Underground

by Gayle O'Brien

  “I think we’re lost,” said Theo. He handed her the directions. “We’re trying to find Route 102, but we might have passed it already.”

  Will he notice if we take a little detour?

  “Left here,” she said.

  Annie directed Theo along the route her school bus took every day. The development where she used to live came into sight, and Annie suppressed a deep, mournful sob.

  “Take a right.”

  “But this is residential.”

  “I know. We need to turn around in here.”

  Theo pulled the truck in and started to make a U-turn.

  “No, go straight,” she said.

  “Why?”

  “It’s better to turn around down there.”

  “How do you know?”

  “I’m just guessing. Keep going.”

  He drove further. “There’s not really a good place to turn around. I’ll have to do a three-point turn.”

  Annie searched for reasons to get him to keep going further. She wanted to see if her house had burned to the ground or been repaired. She wanted to see if her front door had been blown completely off or if it still clung to its hinges. As Theo turned the truck around, she craned her neck to see down her old road. Had it been a month earlier, before the trees were in bloom, she would have had a clear view to her house. As it was, rows of cherry blossoms obscured her view and no amount of stretching would allow her to see it.

  Theo stopped at the exit and took the map from her.

  “No offense, but directions aren’t your thing,” he said, checking the map before turning left.”

  “No,” said Annie. “I guess not.”

  The students at Clinton Community College clearly did not study on Saturday mornings. Annie and Theo arrived at 9:30 and the campus was deserted. Stray pieces of McDonald’s debris blew between concrete buildings. A spilled can of Coke reflected the sun, its sticky contents already turning to syrup in the heat.

  Annie and Theo entered the revolving glass doors to the library and seemed to be the only ones there who weren’t staff. Annie cast quick glances at the few people and felt relieved there was no one she knew.

  As if Jenna and Marcy or anyone else I knew would be caught dead in a community college library on a Saturday, she thought.

  They approached the girl sitting at the reception desk and Annie’s eyes widened. The girl was bottle blonde, slathered in fake tan and heavily engrossed in applying several layers of mascara. She knew this girl. No, she knew this kind of girl. Her shirt was a size too small and her manicured nails a size too big. Annie guessed that underneath the desk was a skirt an inch too short above a pair of heels an inch too high.

  I used to be this girl, she thought.

  The girl glanced at them briefly, did a double-take to Theo, then quickly put away her make-up and batted her mascara-heavy lashes. “Well now, what can I do for you?” she said.

  “Hi!” said Theo, cheerfully. Too cheerfully. “We heard through the grapevine that you were the place to go to find old newspaper archives for the area. We’re looking for a newspaper called the Beckwith Station Gazette.”

  “What’s it worth to you?” she said sweetly.

  Annie felt a ripple of stings across her skin.

  “Excuse me?” said Theo.

  “I’m kidding, sugar. Sure. Let me show you where the files are.”

  She emerged from behind the desk in, as Annie suspected, heels that were longer than her skirt. Annie looked down at her own flannel shirt and faded jeans. She’d forgotten what it felt like to compare herself to other girls, something she hadn’t missed about high school. But she’d never experienced this – this complete lack of preparation on her part, this complete exposure without any of the old tools for her defense. High school was a battleground and everyone came dressed in uniform, ready to fight their corner. Annie realized how easily she’d let that part of her old life go and how little she missed it. And for all she knew, Theo experienced this every day. He could be swarmed by girls all day at school, and Annie would never know.

  They followed the girl to the back of the library. She stopped at a long wooden table that held half a dozen computers made gray by dust that would never come off.

  “How old are these?” asked Theo, as the girl brought a monochrome-green screen to life.

  “Oh, honey, Clinton Community College ain’t known for being high tech. I think these were made before you and I were born. Every day we turn up thinking the library will have burned down because one of these things will have spontaneously combusted.”

  A cursor blinked on an otherwise blank screen.

  “Anyway, this here is the only computer with files for the Beckwith Station Gazette. Some poor soul on Work Study transcribed and typed it all in about twenty years ago, and no one can be bothered getting them off and putting them online. Now, I think all you have to do is enter in a date range – like, you know, January 2000 to December 2001 or something – and then enter in some keywords and it should give you whatever results it has.”

  “Thanks,” said Theo.

  She ran her finger over his arm. “Now if you have any questions, sugar, I’ll be sitting right over there.”

  “Thanks for your help,” said Annie through gritted teeth. The girl ignored her and left them in the wake of her flowery perfume. Annie scanned the room. Against the back wall was a row of computers, modern ones. She squinted to make out the familiar sight of a Windows log-in and vowed not to leave this building until she had access to one of them and had done what she needed to do.

  They sat down, and Annie took out a folder from her backpack. It contained everything she had about Samantha Weston so far – Annie’s copy of Samantha’s letter, the two lists of letters and numbers copied from Annie’s basement and Theo’s barn, her notes on Battenkill’s census, and the article on Samantha’s debutante ball.

  “Okay,” said Theo, rubbing his hands together. “Shall we begin?”

  Annie nodded, braced for the task. “The debutante ball was on March 6, 1861 and the letter was written on March 27, so how about we do that whole year and put in Samantha Weston as keywords?”

  “Good thinking,” said Theo, typing. They watched as only two results loaded.

  Theo clicked the first one open.

  “It’s the debutante ball article again.” Annie and Theo leaned closer to re-read what they already knew.

  “Nope. Nothing we haven’t seen before,” she said.

  Theo closed the article and clicked on the next link. Their arms nearly touched as they leaned closer to the screen, and Annie suddenly regretted all the times she’d moved away at the slightest contact.

  Beckwith Station Gazette

  March 14, 1861

  Master and Mrs. Sanford Weston of Mont Verity are delighted to announce the engagement of their daughter, Samantha Ashton, to Evans Royal Fabre, son of Major and Mrs. Louis Fabre of Dominion Royale.

  The wedding will take place Friday, March 15 at the bride’s residence. The couple will take a brief honeymoon to New Orleans before settling at the Fabre plantation.

  Theo sat back in his chair. “I don’t get it. Who is Evans Royal Fabre?”

  Annie thought about the knife in her boot. “The knife says Elijah Fabre. Do you think they’re brothers? Could they be the same person?”

  “I suppose they could be, but it’s more likely that they’re related.”

  “Evans Royal Fabre,” said Annie. “EF.”

  “Do you think?”

  Annie carefully opened Samantha’s letter. “I don’t know. It doesn’t seem possible. She wouldn’t be telling her father about being in love if it was with the man she was meant to marry.”

  “No, I suppose not. But it’s worth checking out.”

  Theo went back to the search page and entered January 1830 to April 1861, then Evans Royal Fabre. Four results came up. Two were reports of sporting events in which he had placed first, the third was a report of the recent Plantation Owners�
� Society Meeting, which he had chaired, and the fourth was the engagement announcement.

  “Hmmm … what about Samantha’s sister, Georgia?” said Annie, flicking through her notes.

  Theo typed and hit return. Two results came up.

  Beckwith Station Gazette

  February 20, 1858

  Mr. Sanford and Mrs. Madeline Weston have announced they will be hosting a debutante ball for their eldest daughter, Georgia, on Saturday, July 4 of this year. Hold the date, bachelors and debutantes alike – this promises to be the event of the year.

  Beckwith Station Gazette

  June 10, 1858

  Georgia Mae Weston, daughter of Mr. Sanford and Mrs. Madeline Weston of Mont Verity, has died of scarlet fever at the tender age of 16. She is survived by her parents, as well as her younger sister, Samantha. A private funeral will be held at Mont Verity this coming Wednesday. Our thoughts and prayers are with the Weston family at this most heartbreaking time.

  Theo looked at the article he’d found and compared the two. “June 10. She died a month before her deb ball. Harsh.”

  Annie wasn’t in the mood to consider Samantha’s sister. “How about if we extend Samantha’s search to after 1861? Maybe there’ll be an article about her returning home.” She gulped. “Or her obituary or something.”

  Theo typed Samantha Weston and April 1861 – December 1900.

  Nothing came up.

  He deleted Samantha Weston and kept the dates the same.

  Still nothing came up.

  “That’s funny,” he said.

  “What is?”

  “They don’t have any copies of the Beckwith Station Gazette after April, 1861. Either the paper stopped or they just don’t have anything more on record.”

  “I wonder why.”

  Theo got up. “Come on.”

  Annie didn’t want to take Theo anywhere near the blonde at the reference desk, but she knew there wasn’t a better alternative. She stood up and scanned the room. A few more people were here now, but still no one she knew.

  The girl was re-painting her fingernails when Annie and Theo approached.

  “Hi there,” said Theo.

  The girl screwed the top onto her nail polish. “Well, sugar, what can I do for you this time?”

  “We’ve been looking through copies of the Beckwith Station Gazette and we can’t find anything beyond April 1861. Are we doing something wrong?”

  “Oh no, honey, you’re not. That paper ceased to exist around the time of Fort Sumter.”

  “Fort what?” asked Annie, wishing she’d paid more attention in history class.

  The girl rolled her eyes. “Well, you’re clearly not from around here, Honey. Any nice southern girl worth her salt knows that Fort Sumter marked the start of the Civil War. April 12, 1861.” She leaned in towards Theo and whispered. “That’s when we southerners bombed your northern butts to bits.”

  “So, what happened to the paper?” said Annie. The girl glared at her as if she were barging in on the exclusive date.

  “Well, I don’t know. No one really does. Lots of things changed after Fort Sumter. Maybe all the men working for it got up and joined the Confederate cause. That was pretty common. Oh, and there was a slave uprising around that time, but I don’t know if the two are related.”

  Theo turned to Annie. “The slave rebellion. We forgot about that. Remember the article we found said that Beckwith Station train station was destroyed in a slave rebellion?”

  “It wasn’t uncommon in the old days for them to put all their eggs in one basket,” said the girl.

  “Excuse me?” said Annie.

  “Sometimes they’d have one building that had multiple uses. I wouldn’t be surprised if the Beckwith Station Gazette printing press was actually in the station. It made it easier to distribute.”

  There is just so much I don’t know, Annie thought.

  “Then how did the library get any copies?”

  “I don’t know, but you’d be amazed at what southern people hold onto. Most of our historical stuff we get when someone dies, and their relatives bring in all the stuff that can’t go to Goodwill.”

  “Listen,” said Annie, stepping in front of Theo, “we’re here because we’re trying to find out what happened to a girl who lived on a plantation called Mont Verity near a place called Beckwith Station. Do you have any idea how we find out something like that?”

  “Don’t know. We’ve got some old ordnance maps on file. We could see if the plantation you’re looking for is on it.”

  “Old maps,” mumbled Annie. “Good idea.”

  “Don’t act so surprised.”

  “Where do we find them?” asked Theo.

  The girl leaned towards him, giving him a direct view into her cleavage. Annie looked away and let out a loud sigh. Is this what I used to be like? She thought. Did I really look so fake? Or did I not realize because all the girls I hung out with were the same?

  “Come with me, sugar,” said the girl. “The maps are over here.” Theo started following her.

  “Annie? Are you coming?”

  Annie looked at the girl, then Theo. She did not want to leave them alone. But now was her only chance to do what she needed to do.

  “Actually, I was going to ask you if I could get onto one of the computers? You know, one connected to the internet?”

  “That’s only for students,” said the girl.

  “Yeah, I thought you might say that,” Annie mumbled. She hated what she was about to say. “But I’d really appreciate it if you could help. I only need a few minutes while you and Theo get the maps. By yourselves.”

  The girl raised her eyebrow at Annie and then winked. “Oh, I see.” She quickly wrote something on a piece of paper. “Here, it’s a generic username and password. Just don’t do anything naughty.”

  I could say the same thing to you, Annie thought, as she watched the girl slide her arm through Theo’s and disappear into the stacks. Annie sighed, then entered in the username and password the girl had given her. She checked the room again for familiar faces before opening a browser and logging into Facebook.

  There were several new messages. They would have to wait. She inserted the memory stick into the USB port and uploaded the next photo with the caption:

  Next time, be sure to get your good side.

  She dreaded opening the inbox, but she knew she had to. To stop now would only make him think he’d won. That could not happen.

  She clicked open the message and began to read.

  Chapter 14

  “What do you mean, dying?” Samantha asked.

  “I think you need to come see,” said Odus, standing and offering Samantha his hand.

  “Hold on,” she said, refusing his help. “Go into the eaves.” She waited for him to be out of sight before pulling on her dressing gown and lighting the lantern.

  “Honestly,” she said, crawling through the hatch, “why you two can’t …”

  She stopped when the lantern’s light lit Amira. Never had she seen a slave look so pale. The dark skin on her face was as gray as an overcast sky. She lay slumped against the low wall, her skirt soaked with blood.

  “Jesus,” Samantha whispered, kneeling down in front of the girl. She went to feel the girl’s forehead, then retracted. It was not in Samantha’s nature to voluntarily touch a slave.

  “What’s wrong with her?” she asked Odus.

  “Dunno, ma’am. But I ‘spect it’s gots somethin’ to do with the baby.”

  “The baby?” It was only then she noticed the swelling in Amira’s stomach.

  I’m going to kill Eli, she thought.

  “Wait here,” she said, and backed out of the eaves.

  Samantha’s bedroom door creaked when she opened it. Oma and Chimi were no longer guarding her door. She held her breath, waiting to see if anyone had stirred. When she decided they hadn’t, she tiptoed down the hall, past the main stairwell. Never in her life had she ventured down the slaves’ staircase,
but she didn’t dare use the main one. She opened the door into a dark, narrow stairwell and ran her fingers along the wall as she descended.

  Once in the kitchen the moonlight coming through the windows guided her to the anteroom where the female house slaves slept. She opened the door and saw nothing but darkness. Nessie’s voice came through the black.

  “Miss Sammy? Is that you?”

  Nessie fetched a bucket of water and handed towels to Samantha. “I needs you to carry these, Miss Sammy,” she whispered. It was the first time Nessie had ever asked Samantha to do anything.

  Odus was waiting behind the wardrobe door and took the bucket. Nessie carried the lantern and Samantha followed. There was barely enough room for all of them in the narrow space. Samantha stood near the entrance hole to get whatever fresh air was coming through and to keep guard in case she needed to quickly close the hatch.

  Nessie knelt down in front of Amira and put one of the towels under her head.

  “Don’t worry, Nessie take good care of you.” She lifted Amira’s knees and put another towel under her. She slid her hands under Amira’s shirt and felt around her stomach.

  “You’s about eight months gone,” she said.

  Amira nodded.

  She turned to Odus. “I need you to bring the lantern over here.” Odus did as he was told. Both he and Samantha turned away as Nessie lifted Amira’s skirt over her belly and examined between her legs.

  “The bleeding’s on the outside. Good Lordy, girl, who gave you these wounds?”

  Amira did not speak.

  “How long you been like this, girl?”

  “Since the night befo’ we passed on to the auction,” said Odus.

  “What’s going on?” Samantha asked. She was desperate for Nessie to hurry so they could get out of the eaves before someone heard them.

  Nessie glared at Odus. “She talking about you, boy?”

  Odus’ lower lip trembled. “No, ma’am. I swear.”

  “It weren’t him,” said Amira. “It the overseer on our last plantation.”