by Deborah Heal
“Don’t go virtual yet,” Abby said. “Give Kate a chance to figure out how it works.”
Kate watched transfixed as Charlotte and Joshua moved around the kitchen gathering food. “You’re saying that’s your kitchen, Merri?”
“Yep. See? Same windows and doors. Same size and shape. It’s our kitchen all right. Only in 1861.”
“Oh,” Kate said, “they’re leaving.”
“Don’t worry,” Abby said. “We can follow them.”
Joshua, carrying the stew pot, followed Charlotte out of the kitchen into the dim pantry. She looked around cautiously and then opened a small door there.
“We can follow Charlotte in real time or speed up,” John explained. “We can even go backward in time.”
“Awesome,” Kate said.
“You ain’t seen nothin’ yet, girlfriend,” Abby said, grinning. “When we lock onto Charlotte and go virtual, you’ll be inside her head.”
“It’s like reading a really good book,” John said.
“Way better than movies,” Merri said.
“What are they doing?” Kate asked.
“Let’s find out,” Abby said.
Charlotte and Joshua climbed the pantry steps to her bedroom and then went to unlatch the attic door. She opened it and called out softly to reassure those above. Joshua went up first, carrying the stew pot, and she carried the basket of rolls behind him.
When she reached the top, she saw the whites of three pairs of frightened eyes where Sally huddled on the cornhusk pallet with her two little boys.
“I be sorry, Miz McGuire,” Sally said. “Little Frank hungry. I tole him to shut his mouth afore the man catchers git us.”
“I’m sorry, Little Frank,” Charlotte said. “It took much longer than I thought to bring you your supper.”
Joshua set the stew pot on the floor in front of them and then reached into his pocket for the spoons he had brought. But the boys had already begun to dip their hands into the stew.
Sally looked on sadly. “Just like little fattenin’ pigs. Ate cornmeal mush out of a wood trough at Master’s yard.” She shyly took the spoons from Joshua and gave one to each boy. “Little Frank, Solomon, these be spoons. You eat like real boys now we in Illinois.”
Joshua turned to Charlotte looking like he’d been poleaxed. She set the basket of rolls down and looked away so Sally and the boys wouldn’t see that her eyes had started leaking.
She took the lantern down from the post where it hung on a nail and lit it with a match from her pocket. After adjusting the wick, she went to the other cornhusk pallet in the far corner, where a huge man lay with his face to the wall.
“Ned?” Charlotte whispered. “Are you all right?” She put a hand on his shoulder and he jerked and turned onto his back. “I’ve brought food.”
Rising up onto his elbows, he looked dazedly around the attic.
Charlotte brought the lantern closer, and he grimaced and shut his eyes. The rusty slave collar he wore had caused sores on his neck, and they looked even worse than when he had arrived. No telling what festering infections the collar hid.
“I’ll go get Louie,” Joshua said. “He’ll know how to get that cussed thing off.” Joshua had tried that morning to remove the iron collar but none of her father’s tools could cut through it or break the latch.
“Louie’s a good blacksmith, but he’s also a raging bigot. He’d turn us all in and pat himself on the back for doing it. Mr. Bartlett will have something that will get it off. You go on and do your chores, Joshua. And keep your eyes open for him.”
“All right,” he said and went back downstairs.
Taking a small tin of salve from her pocket, Charlotte knelt beside the big man’s pallet. “I got this from the Mercantile for your neck. Let me—” He jerked when she extended her hand toward his ravaged flesh. She pulled her hand back. “I’m not going to hurt you.”
Even as she said it, she realized that the look on his feverish face, before he lowered his eyes, was one of confusion and horror, not fear. “The sores are infected,” she said. “I need to put—”
“I can do it,” he said. His voice was raspy and low. Charlotte wondered if these were his first words for the day. He had spoken no more than a dozen the night before when Jemmy had brought him and the others in.
Charlotte offered him the tin. When he didn’t take it, she put it on the pallet next to him. He picked it up, opened it, and cautiously sniffed the contents. Seeming satisfied, he dipped a finger into the salve and rubbed some of it on his neck.
Sally brought the stew pot over and set it near him. Then she backed away as if she were afraid of getting bitten by a chained dog. “You better let that nigger man eat afore my childrens lick the pan clean.”
Charlotte looked up at the woman in shock. “Why do you call him that?”
“I knows what he is,” she said, settling back onto her own pallet next to the boys.
He didn’t answer, didn’t pay any mind to her, but hauled himself up enough to lean against the wall. He took the stew pot onto his lap and, using one of the spoons still in it, took a bite.
Charlotte moved the lantern so she could see his swollen and lacerated feet. They, too, were worse than before and so huge she hadn’t a hope of finding shoes that would fit him. How far had he run barefoot through the woods?
“Your feet,” she said. “Put salve on them too.”
Charlotte went to the wooden trunk against the wall and set her lantern down so she could open it. After taking out the journal, pen, and ink she kept there, she closed the lid, sat on it, and settled her skirt around her.
“I have stories in this book,” she said, looking in turn to each of her guests. “Stories the people who pass through tell me. Would you like to tell me your story so I can write it down?” Her gaze landed finally on the man in the corner.
He studied the stew pot in his lap. “It ain’t fittin’, ma’am,” he said softly.
“I have all sorts of stories in here. There’s a man in Boston who’ll publish them so people—white people—will understand what—”
“No thank you, ma’am.”
“Well, if you change your mind…”
“I know a story,” Little Frank piped up from across the room. “’Bout Uncle Remus.”
“Hush,” Solomon whispered fiercely to his brother. “Ma’am don’t mean that kind of story.”
“I like that story,” Charlotte said, hiding a grin. “But I want you to tell me about you.”
“You write it in that book?” Sally said with wonder.
“Yes, indeed. Let’s start with your surname.”
Nervously eying the man in the corner, Sally pulled her pallet closer to Charlotte and settled the boys on her lap. “I be Sally,” she said, “and this be Little Frank and Solomon.”
“Yes, but I mean your last name?”
“They named Brooks, ma’am.” Sally turned her face away. “They be Master’s own boys.”
Charlotte swallowed and dropped her eyes to the book in her lap. “Oh. Well, then. How about your last name, Sally?”
“Don’t have no other name but Sally, Miz McGuire. Don’t know who my pappy be neither. But I ’member my mammy. Came five, six times to see me. Had to walk four mile at night after her work done. She settle down all nice next to me and sing sorrow songs whilst I fall to sleep. Be gone when I wake up on account she had to be in the field by sunup or Master whup her. Don’t know what happened to her. She didn’t ever come no more.”
Charlotte wrote it all in the book as fast as she could, pausing only once, when a tear landed on the page, to take a handkerchief out of her pocket and wipe her eyes.
“Can I see what you done writ in the book?” Sally said shyly.
Charlotte turned the book toward her. “This is your name, Sally. Right here. S-A-L-L-Y. And here’s Solomon’s and Little Frank’s.”
Sally and the boys’ eyes were wide with wonder, and Charlotte wished she could teach them to read. She was
perfectly willing to add that crime to her growing list, if only she had enough time. Maybe she could find her old school slate and bring it up to the attic.
“Sally, I don’t understand. Why was your mother four miles away?”
“Master took all the childrens from they mammies and give to Granny Peg. She raise them so the mammies can work in the fields.”
Charlotte focused her mind on getting the story down. There’d be time enough to weep over it later. “Where was this?” she said.
“Clarksville, Tennessee, Miz McGuire. When I was growed then I sold to Master Brooks, and he take me to Sikeston, Missouri. But we can’t stay with Master Brooks no more. Miz Brooks hates Master’s colored childrens. She always tells the whupping man to whup Master’s childrens extra. I hear her say Master gots to sell all his colored childrens or she don’t love him no more.
When Charlotte had written it down, she looked up to find Little Frank staring at her, eyes wide. Sally jerked him face down into her bosom and said. “He don’t mean no disrespect, Miz McGuire. Just he ain’t never seen a white lady what smiled at him.”
“That’s quite all right, Sally,” she said, wiping a tear away. “Thank you for telling me your story.”
Chapter 5
Wiping a tear from her own cheek, Abby paused the program and then turned to find the others staring in shock at the now blank computer monitor. It was a full minute before anyone spoke.
“Sometimes you find out more than you want to know when you go rummaging around in the past,” Abby whispered at last.
“When we were investigating Eulah and Beulah’s ancestor,” John said, “we saw a house burn down with a woman in it.”
“I can’t stand to hear them tell their stories,” Merri said, putting her head on the table.
“Keep your voice down, kiddo,” Abby said. “Don’t wake Ryan.”
There was no need to caution Kate, because she still sat, eyes wide but mouth shut, staring at the computer. Finally, she said, “So this is what you’ve been trying to tell me about all this time? Oh, Abby, I am so sorry for not believing you.”
“That’s all right, roomie. Who could, without seeing it in person?”
“It’s really not a genealogy program, is it?”
“Nope.”
“So, the way you found the Old Dears’ ancestors for their family tree was by going back in time?”
“Only virtually.” Merri lifted her head and wiped at her eyes with her T-shirt sleeve.
“So why don’t we want to wake Ryan?”
“Because until we know what to do with this, we’re not telling anyone else about it. Even Merri’s mom doesn’t know.”
“The media would blast the story all over the world,” John said. “And what if someone really evil got a hold of it? For that matter, what if our own government got a hold of it?”
“Why not?” Kate said. “Just think how this could revolutionize history classes. At last we could finally know what it was really like way back when. And…and…think of it! Police detectives could easily follow up on leads. They’d never prosecute the wrong person. And schools and daycare centers could check out applicants so they wouldn’t hire some child molester. And…and—”
“I know, Kate. We’ve thought of all that,” Abby said. “But what about privacy? You’d never know if someone was snooping around in your most private moments, watching you in your home—in your bedroom or bathroom.”
“But they couldn’t. The Constitution guarantees our privacy.”
“Actually, there’s some question about that,” John said. “But even if you’re right, once people see all the good applications for this, with this kind of power—well, it would only be a matter of time before Big Brother began using it to keep us all in line.”
Kate was quiet for a moment and then said, “So what are you going to do with it?”
“We don’t know,” Abby said, looking at John. “But we’d better start thinking about it, now that it’s working again.”
“Maybe the safest thing is to turn it over to the government. At least they’d have the resources to keep our enemies from getting their hands on it. My dad works for the state. Actually, one of his friends knows the governor.”
John’s face registered alarm. “No offense to your dad, Kate, but letting Illinois politicians get their hands on it is almost as scary. You know the state motto. Illinois: where the governors make the license plates.”
“So are you saying you won’t use it to help me?”
“I know we used it to help Eulah and Beulah, but—”
“I promise not to tell anyone. Even Ryan, if you insist, although I hate keeping things from him.”
“Anyway, I can’t just leave Merri here alone and go off to Equality with you.”
John laughed softly. “Look at her.”
Merri was conked out, snoring softly, her head on the computer table next to the keyboard.
“She’s got the right idea,” Abby said, rising from her chair. “Let’s sleep on it.” She yawned and then shook Merri’s arm to wake her.
By the time they had settled back into their beds it was three-thirty. Merri went back to sleep instantly. Actually, Abby wasn’t sure she’d even been awake when they walked her back to the bedroom.
And Abby had no difficulty falling back asleep this time. Midway during her prayer for God to help her know what to do, she too conked out.
Pat was making pancakes while patiently listening to Merri’s steady stream of chatter about their girls’ night. Grinning, Abby set the table and then poured orange juice into six blue glasses.
“Thanks,” Kate said when she got to her place at the table. “I wish you’d let me help.”
“Don’t be silly,” Abby said. “You’re our guest. Right, Merri?”
“If you want, me and Abby will let you help us wash the dishes,” Merri offered graciously.
“And,” Pat said from the stove, “I’ll let you come get your own pancakes. I’ve got three hot ones here with your name on them.”
“Gladly.” She took the plate Pat handed her and stood for a moment looking at her outdated, avocado green stove.
“Do you need more?” Pat asked.
“Oh, heavens no. This is plenty. I was just thinking how lucky we are to have modern conveniences like electric stoves.”
Abby saw that Merri was grinning at the expression her mother wore. Pat had no idea how different her kitchen was from when Charlotte had cooked in it so many years before.
“I don’t mind at all that we don’t have a dishwasher,” Merri said. “At least we have running water.”
Pat smiled at her. “You’re right, honey. We all should count our blessings more often.”
John came in sniffing the air. “Do I smell coffee?”
“You sure do,” Pat said. “Help yourself.”
John assigned himself the job of pouring cups for everyone except Merri.
“Hey, how come I don’t get any?”
“Because you’re just a pipsqueak, that’s why,” John said, ruffling her hair.
“Oh, there you are, Ryan.” Pat smiled a welcome.
He stood uncertainly in the doorway. He was probably starving. As far as Abby knew he hadn’t had anything to eat since fruit salad at the reunion the day before.
“Do you want bacon with yours?” Pat asked.
“Sure,” he said, eagerly taking the plate. “Thanks.”
Abby smothered a smile. It just went to show that if a person got hungry enough they’d eat anything.
After they had their fill of pancakes, Pat went to dress for work. Abby, Merri and Kate cleaned up the kitchen, Abby washing while they dried the dishes. With two to one, Abby had to work fast to keep them busy.
Merri took a plate from the drainer and began wiping it dry. “Abby, I think you should go with Kate.”
“We, my dear student, have work to do.” After a moment, she added, “And besides, I can’t just leave you here alone.”
�
��Don’t worry. I already called the Grandmas. They said I can stay with them.”
“Why would you do that, kiddo?”
“Like I keep saying, Beautiful Houses wouldn’t be working after all this time for no reason. I think it wants you to help Kate. So you better go with her to Equality and see what’s going on.”
“Really?” Kate said. “You wouldn’t mind, Merri?”
“Mom said she’d drop me off on her way to work.”
“Kathryn, I got the bedding folded and the sleeping bag put away,” Ryan said from the doorway where he stood with John.
“I see you don’t need any help here,” John said.
“You’ll come back though, right, Abby?” Merri said, ignoring John’s attempt at humor.
“Of course I will.” Abby hung up her dishtowel and gave Merri a hug. “But we probably won’t get back until tomorrow or maybe Monday. It’ll take almost three hours to get there, and I doubt we’ll find out much today with it being Saturday.”
“Where are you going?” John asked.
“Equality,” Abby answered. “I’m going with Kate and Ryan.”
“But I thought we’d given up on that idea,” Ryan said. “If the program’s not working properly—”
Kate darted a glance at Abby. “But it might work in Equality,” she said. “And Abby’s an expert with genealogy. She can—”
“No, I’m not,” Abby said, “and there’s no guarantee we’ll find anything.” Then seeing the look of desperation on Kate’s face she added, “But I’m going to try.” Although she didn’t know how on earth she was going to get the chance to time-surf without Ryan seeing it.
“That is if John will let us borrow his laptop.” At the confused look on Ryan’s face Abby added, “John’s friend Timmy Tech copied the program onto it.”
“Sure,” John said. “I’ll just run home and shower and pack a few things.”
Abby felt like doing a happy dance but managed with effort not to. “You’re coming too?”
John smiled at her, his eyes bluer than ever. “You bet. I wouldn’t miss the fun for anything.”
