Underground

by Gayle O'Brien

  “Not much longer now. Here,” she said, handing them the biscuits. “Oma got these for you.”

  “Thank you, Miss Sammy.”

  The water bucket was empty.

  “This needs filling. I’ll be right back.”

  She backed out of the hole and begrudgingly closed the hatch. Nessie met her at the wardrobe door.

  “Miss Sammy, you’s gots to come quick.”

  Samantha came out of the wardrobe. Chimi stood at the window, out of breath. She pointed out the window. “Miss Sammy, look!”

  Samantha looked out and saw Oma being led across the drive by Clement Durant.

  “He coming out of Master Weston’s office, and Cook tell him that Oma been stealing.”

  “What?”

  “Yes, Cook noticed biscuits missing and said she seen Oma leaving right before she noticed they gone. When they find one in her pocket the overseer say he taking her to the whipping tree.”

  Samantha ran out of her bedroom and down the stairs.

  “Miss Sammy!” called Nessie. “Where you going?”

  But Samantha did not answer.

  Samantha barged in to her father’s office, throwing open both doors. It was empty. She ran to the front door, where Charles, the doorman, sweltered in his wool suit.

  “Charles, have you seen Father?”

  “He done left this morning, Miss Sammy.”

  “Left? Where?”

  “I think he off to the Fabres, Miss Sammy. Don’t think he be back until late.”

  Samantha flew down the front steps and ran towards the slave quarters. It was almost noon and unseasonably temperate. Her eyes squinted against the brightness, and her dress felt like a weight holding her down. But she did not stop.

  A crowd had already gathered by the whipping tree.

  “Let me through,” she panted, pushing her way past the slaves. “You have … to let … me through.”

  Oma’s hands were tied to the lowest branch and as Samantha broke through the crowd, a collective gasp erupted as Durant tore off Oma’s shirt with one hand, bearing her breasts to the sun and the crowd. In his other hand was the whip.

  “Stop!” Samantha yelled.

  Durant’s eyes widened at the sight of his master’s daughter. Then anger pinched his face. She had humiliated him only a few days ago, pointing a gun at his back and telling him what he could or couldn’t do with his slaves.

  “You have no business being here, ma’am,” he hissed.

  “I have every right to be here,” she said, catching her breath. “I am ordering you to let her go.”

  “Can’t do that, ma’am. She was caught stealing. Rules is rules.”

  “She wasn’t stealing. She was doing as I asked. I wanted those biscuits.”

  Durant paused. Then a horrible grin spread across his face as he picked up the whip and walked slowly towards her.

  “I don’t think I believe you, ma’am. I think you’d say anything to protect these niggers. You’ve gone soft over them over the past few days and everyone here has noticed.”

  Samantha put herself between Durant and Oma. “Let her go or so help me I will see to it that you are relieved of your position as soon as Father gets home.”

  Durant stood so close his words spat in her face. “I’ve worked for your father my whole life, and my father worked for his father. You think a word from his little missy is going to mean anything? I know your father better than anyone and he has the spine of a jellyfish.”

  Samantha slapped him as hard as she could. He raised his fist.

  “Go ahead,” she said, her jaw clenched.

  Durant’s hand fell to one side. “Fine. I’ll let her go.”

  “Thank you,” said Samantha. As she turned and reached for Oma’s torn shirt lying in the dirt, Durant pushed her to the ground and raised the whip. The crowd gasped.

  “No!” Samantha yelled. She jumped to her feet and lunged for Oma, throwing her arms around the girl just as the whip came down.

  Several of the women screamed, including Oma. Some of the male slaves jumped, wanting to intervene, until well-ingrained fear held them in place.

  Durant lowered the whip, then dropped it to the ground. He took a few steps back, not wanting to believe the sight in front of him.

  The whip had gone straight down Samantha’s back, searing through the fabric of her dress and cutting a line through her skin. She clung onto Oma, afraid to let go. She was in the worst pain of her life, even more than when she broke her arm falling off the palomino two years ago, even more than the worst of her blood cycle cramps. It was as if lightning had struck and split her back in two.

  “Miss Sammy,” whispered Oma, tears falling down her face. Samantha released her clasp on Oma long enough to untie the rope holding Oma’s hands. She kept her arms over Oma’s shoulders, afraid to let go.

  “Please take me back to the house,” Samantha managed to whisper, and she and Oma hobbled toward the crowd.

  “Wait,” said Samantha, leaning down to pick up Oma’s shirt in the dirt. “Put this on first.” She let go of Oma and started to sway. Two of the field slaves ran forward to catch her.

  “I’m alright,” she said. “Thank you.” She summoned one of them closer. “I need you to spread the word amongst the slaves that Mother and Father are not to find out about this. Make sure Durant knows it, too.”

  “Yes, Miss Sammy,” said the slave.

  No one spoke as Samantha and Oma limped back to the house, and no one moved until Durant walked humbly, shamefully, back to his cabin.

  Samantha let Nessie dress the whipping wound on her back, and then insisted that she stop fussing. “I’m alright,” she said. “We’ve got more important things to do.”

  Odus and Amira came out of the eaves at 10 o’clock. They sat with Samantha on the floor, holding onto the packs she had prepared. Nessie kept watch at the door. Samantha looked out the window. It was a clear, cold night, which made Samantha nervous. The brighter the moonlight, the greater the chance of being seen. None of them said a word; they simply sat in silence and waited for the clock to chime quarter to twelve.

  Samantha dared not admit her anxiety to Odus and Amira. So many things could go wrong. They could be caught at any point: sneaking out the window, shimmying down the pillar, making their way across the moonlit field to the woods. What if Eli wasn’t there?

  The clock chimed. It was time to move.

  They made it out the window and down the pillar without a hitch, both Odus and Samantha working together to help Amira. They all held hands as they ran across the horse paddock, with Samantha carrying Amira’s pack. The moon shone so brightly that their shadows ran alongside them. Amira started to wheeze.

  “Almost there,” said Samantha.

  They leapt into the dark woods and followed the sound to the stream. Once they reached it, Samantha took the canteen out of Amira’s pack and brought it to the girl’s lips.

  “You did really well,” said Samantha, stroking the girl’s hair. “You rest now.”

  Odus stood by the stream, looking into the dark.

  “You take good care of her,” she said.

  “Yes, ma’am,” he said softly. Their eyes met, and Samantha looked away. There was so much she wanted to say to him. It wasn’t even as if she knew him or much about him. Odus and Amira were, to her, two of the most beautiful human beings she’d ever met. They’d both endured so much, and yet they remained kind and gentle.

  She scanned the dark woods, looking for signs of Eli. Part of her was desperate for him to arrive, and another part didn’t want to see him at all. His coming would change everything: Odus and Amira would be taken away, and she would begin a new and very different life.

  Eli and his horse emerged from the dark. Samantha gasped. She wasn’t sure it was him, at first. His clothes were dirty and his trousers were torn at the knee. He dismounted and didn’t bother holding the reins of his tired horse. He took a step towards her and winced – that was when Samantha noticed
his feet were bare and his face had a trace of stubble.

  She walked towards him and held out her arms, unsure of what was expected. Eli responded with a loose embrace. It didn’t feel quite right, as if over the past week they’d both changed shape and no longer fit. He smelled of rotting hay and mulch.

  “It’s so good to see you,” she said. Her words were disingenuous, and she knew it. She hoped he didn’t notice. “We have so much to talk about.”

  Eli looked at Odus and Amira. “You’ve still got them. Good.”

  “They’re as ready as I can make them,” said Samantha, leading Eli towards them. “They’ve got food, water and blankets. They’ve been well fed this week, so hopefully they’re fortified for the journey.”

  “Journey? What journey?”

  “North. They told me you were going to take them north.”

  Eli spoke low in Samantha’s ear. “Samantha, I only told them that so they wouldn’t run. I’m taking them back to your father.”

  Samantha stepped back. “What?”

  “What did you think I was going to do? The plan all along was to take them back. I’ll tell him I’ve spent this week tracking them down. Don’t you see? This is how I’ll convince your father that I’m the only one you should marry. While two of his slaves have been on the run all week, I’m the one that’s been doing something about it. Royal’s just been sitting on his haunches.”

  Samantha put her hands over her ears and shook her head as if to block out all Eli had just said. “Eli, you told them you were going to free them. You promised.”

  “No one ever tells a nigger the truth. There’d be slave rebellions all the way down to the Delta if they knew half of what we know.”

  “This can’t be happening,” she whispered.

  “Go home,” said Eli. “I’ll take it from here.” He pulled out his pistol and aimed it at Odus. “Okay, nigger. Start walking.”

  Neither Odus nor Amira moved.

  “I said walk!” he shouted.

  Samantha stood in front of Eli.

  “I can’t let you take them.”

  “Samantha, what is wrong with you? This is what you wanted! After tonight we can be married and you can stay at Mont Verity forever.”

  “No,” said Samantha. “Not this way.”

  “Now you’re just talking nonsense. I’ve known you all your life, Samantha, and I know you’re a girl who only ever wanted two things. Ride her horse and stay at her daddy’s house.”

  “I’ve changed.”

  Eli rolled his eyes. “It’s past your bedtime. You’re tired and not thinking straight. Go home. Go to bed. We’ll talk in the morning after I’ve brought these niggers to your father.”

  “No, Eli. We won’t.”

  “What are you talking about?”

  “I won’t see you tomorrow. And I’ll never marry you. I thought you were noble. I thought for the first time in your life you were taking a brave stance. That you actually believed in something. But Royal was right. You only care about yourself.”

  “Shut up,” he said.

  “You’re a child. And a liar. And a coward.”

  Eli pushed Samantha to the ground and she cried out as the wound on her back split in two. Eli raised his hand. His fist came down, until it was halted in midair.

  Samantha looked up. Odus held Eli’s wrist.

  “You leave Miss Sammy alone,” Odus said.

  Samantha watched the rage flash across Eli’s eyes. He shook himself free from Odus’ grip and stepped back. Then he laughed.

  “You know what? As long as your father gets these niggers back, he won’t care if they’re dead or alive.” He raised his gun and pointed it at Odus’ chest.

  Amira screamed as a shot rang through the night sky, echoing through the trees and floating up to the stars.

  Blood splattered over Odus’ face, but he did not move. Instead, he watched as Eli came slowly to his knees. Samantha’s bullet had gone straight through his back to his chest. He slumped onto the ground, rolled onto his side and then Elijah Fabre took his last living breath.

  “Miss Sammy,” Amira whispered. “What have you done?”

  Samantha walked over to Eli’s body and knelt down. His eyes were still open. She closed them. She pulled Eli’s fingers to extract his gun, got up and walked over to his horse, feeling like her body moved of its own volition. She opened Eli’s pack and dumped the contents onto the ground. All that came out was a canteen and the knife Samantha had given him a mere two weeks ago. She saw traces of blood on the blade, then the engraving caught the moonshine: To Elijah Fabre, With Love from Samantha Weston, 1861. She cleared her tightened throat.

  Later, Samantha would replay the scene over and over in her head, trying to imagine a scenario in which shooting Eli had been an accident. She’d meant to fire a shot to distract him. She’d meant to shoot the gun out of his hand.

  No. Nothing could replace the fact that Eli had died because she had deliberately shot him.

  She handed Odus the gun. “Odus, please put Eli’s things into our pack. Amira, come here.”

  Samantha cupped her hands together and hoisted Amira into Eli’s saddle.

  “Miss Sammy?” said Odus.

  Samantha looked towards the direction of the house, her house, her home. She then gazed up at the sky. Through the trees, the North Star burned brightly.

  “You were promised your freedom,” she said, taking the reins of Eli’s horse. “And that’s exactly what you’re going to get.”

  Chapter 19

  Theo drove along the highway towards Maryland. Annie sat in the passenger seat. Their last printout from the library lay on her lap. Annie retrieved the flat stone she’d found at Samantha’s stream from her pocket and began absentmindedly sharpening the blade of Elijah Fabre’s knife.

  “Read it again,” said Theo.

  Annie cleared her throat.

  Beckwith Station Gazette

  March 16, 1861

  Elijah Fabre Shot Dead; Escaped Slaves Suspected

  Elijah Fabre, son of Major Louis Fabre of Dominion Royale, was found dead in the early hours of Thursday morning. The body was discovered on the property border between Dominion Royale and Mont Verity, home of the Weston family. Master Fabre died of a single gunshot wound to the heart. According to his father, he had been traveling the previous week but did not inform them of his exact whereabouts.

  Master Fabre had no personal effects on his person upon discovery. His father told this paper that his son would have traveled with his horse, pistol and travel pack. It is also believed that he was carrying a knife that had his name engraved on the blade. At the time we went to press, these items were considered stolen and a potential motive.

  As to the suspects, it is believed that Elijah Fabre had been seeking out two fugitive slaves, belonging to Sanford Weston. The only story to have reached this reporter is an account by one Septimus Woodfield, a sharecropper who resides near the Potomac, who reported seeing a white woman, two Negroes and a horse on the edge of his property on Friday morning.

  Early reports that the bullet which killed Elijah Fabre came from a gun belonging to the Weston family have not yet been verified.

  The wedding that was to take place at Mont Verity this past Friday has been postponed.

  “I can’t believe he was murdered,” said Theo.

  “Me neither.”

  “How could Samantha have had that knife in Vermont a week later?”

  Annie couldn’t think anymore. “I’m starting to wonder if maybe she was never really there. That letter could have been written anywhere. Anyone could have left it in that room.”

  “No, she was there. Her initials are in the Bible.”

  “It might not be her.”

  “Come on, Annie, don’t do that.”

  “Even when I first found it I didn’t think it was real. It felt like a joke, like it wasn’t possible it could have been down there all that time.”

  “You and I both know it’s her,”
he said, definitely. “I can feel it. Can’t you?”

  Annie scraped the stone across the blade. The sound reminded of her of nails running down a chalkboard. “Maybe one of the slaves who murdered him stole the knife and used it to kidnap her. Maybe he forced her to take him north.”

  “That doesn’t make sense either. In her letter she sounds so happy. I can’t imagine she’d been kidnapped.”

  “Maybe she was, but then escaped, and that’s why she was hiding. Although it doesn’t explain why she didn’t think she could ever go back home to Virginia.”

  “I’m so confused,” said Theo.

  “Me too,” said Annie, sighing.

  “But hey, Kate said she’d look through her attic tonight. Who knows what she might find? And that blonde girl at the library seemed to know a lot about Southern history. Maybe we could call there and see what she makes of it all.”

  “Not that you’re looking for an excuse to call her or anything.”

  “What’s that supposed to mean?”

  “Nothing. She just seemed to like you, that’s all.”

  “Is that a problem?” he asked.

  “Nope,” she said, putting the knife on her lap and crossing her arms. “No problem, at all. If blonde and bulimic is what you go for.”

  She didn’t know where the spite came from or why she was throwing it in Theo’s face. As soon as she said it she was sorry.

  Theo pursed his lips. “Guess I have a thing for brunette anorexics instead.”

  It took Annie a minute to realize he was talking about her. “You don’t know what you’re talking about.”

  “Yes, I do.”

  “I’m not anorexic.”

  “Yes, you are.”

  “Theo, stop it.”

  “Last year a girl at school was sent to hospital because she wasn’t eating. It wasn’t even a hospital, actually – it was like a rehabilitation center. She still isn’t back yet. The school did a whole educational thing about anorexia and bulimia after that and I’m telling you, you are everything I learned that day.”