Underground

by Gayle O'Brien

  That’s when I cut my hair. It used to be down to my waist. I got up at six every morning to straighten it. Every four weeks I had it highlighted blonde. It felt like straw. But it was what all the other girls did and, I’m a little ashamed to say, that really mattered.

  In Charleston, Mom wouldn’t even go downstairs for breakfast. She just stayed in bed, watching the television and eating M&Ms. I guess she was just too numb from the shock. Or at least, that’s the excuse I’ve come up with. I don’t know how else to explain why she’s completely shut down.

  There’s so much about her I don’t understand. It used to be that she’d get angry with me for just about anything. Now she’ll barely talk to me. She told me a few weeks ago that she doesn’t even want to go home to Virginia, but wouldn’t tell me why. I feel like I don’t know her at all.

  Anyway, after a few days in Charleston I spent a whole day trying to get in touch with Dad. I just wanted to make sure he was okay and let him know we were, too. When he finally answered that payphone and I told him where we were, he started screaming that we needed to get farther away, that Sanchez had an APB on us. I told him we’d leave first thing in the morning.

  “No,” he said. “Now.”

  So I got Mom dressed and dragged her downstairs. The landlady stood in the doorway. “You’re not leaving now, are you?” she said.

  I can still see her standing there, offering to let us stay for dinner. I knew she was trying to get us to stay. I told her we had a bus to catch. She asked where we were going and I made up something about cousins in Florida.

  I pulled Mom out the door and around the corner. We stayed there for a few minutes. Sure enough, a Virginia State Police car pulled up in front of the bed and breakfast. I saw him get out of the car, smoking a cigarette like he always did. He’d just missed us.

  That was the first time I stole a car. It was pretty easy. I hid Mom in an alley behind McDonald’s while I went into the ladies room. A woman was washing her hands and her purse was on the edge of the sink. When she wasn’t looking I knocked it over and everything came out. I said I was really sorry and helped her put things back in. She didn’t notice that I’d taken her keys.

  The car had a full tank of gas, and it got us as far as Alabama. We stopped in Huntsville and found a little motel that had a row of efficiency apartments in the back.

  It was summer by then and we completely melted in there without air conditioning. It didn’t have a kitchen or a microwave, so we only ate cereal bars and apples. That was when I realized I had to keep a tight grip on the money and I decided not to spend more than $1.50 a day on food. Then I noticed how much weight I was losing, and it became all I thought about. Every waking moment was centered around when I would let myself eat, and how much it would cost us when it did. It was almost like I had something to prove. I suppose I’ve proven it now.

  I talked to Dad only once while we were in Huntsville. He was still living on the mountain, but coming down at night and trying to track Sanchez. He was sure he’d slip up again and do something Dad could catch. He still had the photos from the night of the murder, but he didn’t know who he could trust with them. So he wasn’t just spying on Sanchez, but the whole police force. He took pictures of everything and everyone.

  Every time we talked – about once every two weeks – he had a new number to call him on. I don’t know if they were pay phones or cell phones – I didn’t ask.

  After two months in Huntsville, Sanchez found us. God, I still hate saying his name. We were asleep, not that I sleep well anymore. A flea could hiccup and it would wake me. I heard the police car pull up and went to the window. It was too dark to see what it said on the side of the car, but I just knew.

  “Mom, we’ve got to go,” I said, and pulled her up. We didn’t even sleep in pajamas anymore – it was easier to sleep in our clothes. There were always things we left behind and had to replace later – toothbrushes, socks and magazines. But I always grabbed Dad’s briefcase of money. We’d have been dead without that.

  There was a forest behind the motel and we ran into that. He chased us for at least a mile, but we finally lost him.

  After that we went all over the country using stolen cars. That’s why I had the doorstop and hanger in my backpack. What else could I do? I had no way of buying a car and it wasn’t safe taking the train or a plane. You know now that I don’t have a license, but I was careful. I never gave anyone any reason to pull me over.

  We lived in motels all through fall and into winter. We were staying in one in Troy when I saw the classified ad for the house we’re in now. I called the realtor from a pay phone and she said its ownership was currently under some kind of probate, but that if we were happy without a lease then we could have it for practically nothing. I said yes, provided we could pay in cash. She said fine.

  So that’s how we ended up in Battenkill. Seeing that one classified ad changed everything for me. It brought me here, to Samantha Weston.

  And to you.

  Sanchez hasn’t found us since Huntsville. I was starting to think he never would, and then you and I went to Virginia. That trooper knows my name, and he knows where I live. It’s not safe for us here anymore.

  But Dad’s got an idea now of who was murdered that night and why. He thinks Sanchez is running some kind of prostitution and child trafficking ring. It starts in Arizona, where the State Police guard the border with Mexico. They take women and girls who have managed to sneak in and sell them. If they try to talk or show any sign that they’re trying to escape, they’re killed. And because they’ve been taken before anyone has a record of them, it’s easy to make them disappear. Those girls are being sold in every state.

  The one thing he hasn’t been able to get proof of is Sanchez killing one of them again. How awful is that? He has to wait for some other innocent girl to be killed before we can have our lives back. There’s a way in which I hope that doesn’t happen. I don’t think I could be happy getting my own life back knowing that someone had to die for it.

  What makes us all sick is that he was someone we knew, someone we let into our lives even though there was something about him that made us all feel we couldn’t trust him. Looking back, I think we were all on edge when he was around. My parents fought more. When I got older I just hid in my room whenever he came over. If I get to go back to my old life that is something I will take with me – life is too short to spend with people who don’t bring out the best in you.

  And anyway, I’m not sure I even want my old life back anymore.

  Going back to my old life means leaving you.

  She looked at Theo, whose face was covered in disbelief. Her soup had cooled, so she ate it, waiting for Theo to speak.

  “You are so brave,” he said finally. “I knew you had secrets, but I couldn’t have imagined … I can’t believe you’ve been through all that and are still sitting here.”

  Annie blushed. “I did what anyone else would have done.”

  “No, you did better. You’ve kept you and your mom going all this time. How can you not see how incredible that is? I can’t think of a single girl at school who could have done what you’ve done. They would have crumbled a long time ago, but you … you’re something else.”

  He stood up and paced the kitchen. “There has to be some way to end all this,” he said, “without someone else getting hurt.”

  He knelt by Annie’s chair. “I wish I could fix it. I wish I knew how to make it all go away.” He took her hands. “There’s so much I can’t promise you, but I can at least promise you one thing.”

  “What’s that?”

  “For tonight, at least, you are safe.”

  Annie smiled. “I know.”

  Theo led Annie to his third-floor bedroom and lit a candle before pulling down his window shades. She watched him fold back his rumpled quilt and stand over his bed, shifting his weight. The ease they felt in each other’s company minutes before had been replaced by squirming and nerves.

  Now
what? Annie thought.

  “Do you, um, want to borrow some PJs?” he asked.

  “Yes, please.”

  He fumbled through his drawers and handed her a worn white T-shirt and a pair of plaid boxers. He stood on the other side of the room, unsure of where to look.

  “Um, should I get changed in the bathroom?”

  “Oh, no. You don’t have to do that. I’ll just step out for a minute.” He backed towards the door and misjudged when to turn, banging the side of his face against the doorframe.

  Annie stifled a giggle.

  “Back in a minute,” he said.

  Annie undressed quickly, folding her jeans and scrunching up her shirt. She pushed them underneath the bed with her cowboy boots and Elijah Fabre’s knife.

  Annie was sitting up in his bed, Theo’s quilt pulled over her legs, when he returned with two glasses of water.

  “In case you get thirsty.”

  “Thanks.”

  Annie tried to focus on the greens and blues of the patchwork quilt while Theo pulled his shirt over his head and pushed his jeans to the floor. She couldn’t help but steal a glimpse of the outline of his shoulders and the muscles in his back.

  He swung his legs under the quilt and Annie pressed her knees together.

  She had never been here before, with Theo or with anyone else.

  Theo switched off the bedside lamp and pulled the covers over them. She felt his body heat through the bed sheets.

  “So,” he said slowly, “I guess we should go to sleep.”

  “I guess so.”

  Silence fell, marred only by the pounding of Annie’s heart.

  “Can I tell you something?” said Theo.

  “Anything.”

  “I’m in this with you now. No matter what happens. Sanchez could come here tomorrow, and I’d still be in this.”

  Annie inched closer. “All this time I’ve been missing Virginia, missing home. Going back there today made me realize that I’ve changed. I wore a mask every day when I was there. Now I’m without it, I don’t think I want it back. I don’t need it anymore.”

  She slid her hand over Theo’s soft, bare skin.

  “It’s all because of you, Theo.”

  Theo put his hand to her face.

  “I love you, Annie.”

  “I love you, too, Theo.”

  They began to kiss, and Annie knew what it must feel like to fly.

  She woke up wrapped in Theo’s arms, exactly where she’d fallen asleep hours earlier. Early morning sunlight shone determinedly around the edges of the window shade. She looked at the clock on Theo’s bedside table: it was just past eight o’clock.

  She watched him sleep. Gently, carefully, she stroked his head, running her fingers over his hair.

  She knew last night was their first and their only. She contemplated trying to sneak out while he was still asleep. It would be easier than saying goodbye.

  Her parents would be going crazy with worry, that much she knew. Angry as she was, it wasn’t right to keep them in the dark. They hadn’t asked for this either. The best they could do was stick together.

  The phone next to Theo’s bed rang. Annie started, and Theo was jolted out of sleep.

  “What the heck?” said Theo, reaching over Annie to pick up the receiver. “Who calls this early on a Sunday?”

  “Hello?” he said. “Hi!” He sat up and pulled Annie upright. “It’s Kate,” he said, holding the receiver between them. Annie leaned in to hear.

  “I’m sorry to call so early,” said Kate. “I’ve wanted to call all night. I actually haven’t slept because I didn’t want to miss the chance to call you as soon as possible.”

  “What have you found out?” said Theo.

  “Well, I spent all last night going through the wooden crates that were upstairs. Oh, I wish you’d been here! You would have been as amazed as I was. Basically, as I told you, it looks like Sanford Weston, Samantha’s father, lived here after the war. Most of what is here is dated after 1861. That matches up with reports that the main house burned down right around the time the war started. The picture of the cotillion seems to be the only thing here that pre-dates the war. But everything in those crates belonged to him. It doesn’t look like he married or had any more children. I think he lived here alone until he died.”

  “That makes sense,” said Theo. “We found the family grave. Madeline Weston died in June, 1861.”

  “The real reason I’m calling …” Kate’s hesitated.

  “What it is?” Annie said.

  “In the crates he had a small collection of newspapers.”

  “The Beckwith Station Gazette?” said Annie.

  “Yes. A few copies dated before the war started.”

  Kate paused.

  “What?” said Theo.

  “I’ve just finished scanning them into my computer. I’m emailing them to you now. I think you need to see these for yourself.”

  Theo reached over and turned on his computer.

  Annie crossed her arms to control the fluttering in her stomach. “Tell me what they say.”

  Kate took a deep breath. “I know what happened to Samantha Weston. And I’m afraid to say it’s not the happy ending we were hoping for.”

  Chapter 24

  Neither Samantha nor Odus expected the journey from the Store at Five Corners to the next stop to be so short. They’d crawled back into the wagon compartment as instructed, expecting another several hours of proximity. But a mere 15 minutes later, a man in a pastor’s suit opened the compartment and let them out in the woods behind a small farmhouse.

  “This way,” the pastor whispered. “And stay low.’”

  They followed him towards the house and its welcoming light. He tapped in rhythm on the back door. A plump woman with white hair opened it. They entered a scullery where the smell of beef stew and biscuits made Samantha swoon.

  “I believe you are Odus and Samantha. I’m Reverend Jennings,” said the pastor, “and this is my wife.”

  Mrs. Jennings looked at her husband. “I thought there’d be three.”

  “The other young lady is staying at Five Corners. She is with child and Moses reckons the baby will come by next nightfall. Moses will stay with her until that happens.”

  Mrs. Jennings ladled the beef into two bowls and laid biscuits on top to soak in the sauce. “You’d best send him down,” she said to her husband, handing the bowls to Samantha and Odus.

  “Actually, they’re both going down,” said the Reverend.

  Mrs. Jennings nearly dropped her ladle.

  “This is a special circumstance,” he said. “Samantha is just as much on the run as Odus.”

  “We’ve never had a white woman stay under …”

  “I’m sorry,’ he said. “But it is for everyone’s safety.”

  Mrs. Jennings shook her head and went back to the stove.

  Reverend Jennings opened a door and led them down wooden stairs to the basement. There was no railing. Samantha ran her hand along the wall.

  “Sorry we can’t let you stay upstairs,” said Reverend Jennings. “Usually we can at least let the conductors stay if they’re white, but it’s too risky in this instance, especially with you, Miss Weston.”

  Samantha forgot all manners and desperately pushed a biscuit into her mouth.

  He continued. “There’s a bounty on your head now. You’re wanted for murder and kidnapping. Usually they just send slave catchers after fugitives, but because of you there’s a small Virginian army headed this way. Stand over here, please.”

  Reverend Jennings knelt at the bottom of the stairs. Samantha and Odus watched with wonderment as the bottom two steps moved under the Reverend’s hands.

  “We’ll be moving you on before first light tomorrow, but in the meantime I need you both in here.”

  Samantha handed her bowl of stew to Odus, then Samantha took the Reverend’s hand and let him ease her through the gap. She panicked briefly, unsure of how far she needed to go befo
re her feet reached the ground, but was relieved to find it was only a four-foot drop. The Reverend handed her the lantern and the small space was revealed. Above her the underside of the stairs ascended. The room was no more than six feet long and four feet wide. A small cotton pillow and a wool blanket lay on a rectangular piece of canvas. Samantha set the lantern down on a small wooden crate, next to a copy of the Bible.

  “As I said, we don’t usually put the white folk in here, but this is an extenuating circumstance,” said Reverend Jennings. He put his hand on Odus’ shoulder. “Can I trust you to be honorable with this here lady?”

  “Yes, sir,” said Odus, just as Samantha said, “He can be trusted.”

  Odus slipped through the gap.

  “Reverend?” said Samantha.

  “Yes?”

  “I hope this isn’t too much to ask, but I was wondering if I could have paper and a quill?”

  “What for?”

  “I need to write to my father. I need to let him know that I’m alright.”

  “That’s pretty risky, Miss Weston, all things considered. The letter’s postmark will put him on your trail just when we need to be throwing him off.”

  “I know. I don’t mind if you wait a few days before posting it. Or perhaps give it to Moses, and she can send it from somewhere further south so that it’s harder to trace. Please, it will kill him not to know.”

  Reverend Jennings sighed. “Alright.”

  Samantha and Odus finished their meal in silence. Reverend Jennings returned with an envelope, quill, inkwell and paper. Odus handed him the empty bowls.

  “I need to shut you in now,” said Reverend Jennings. “When you’re finished with your letter, just tuck it into the Bible. I’ll post it once I’m back from taking you on. When you’re finished with your letter, I need you to leave your marks. Have you done that before?”