by Deborah Heal
“Ryan said virginity is like a tamper-proof seal on a bottle of aspirin. It’s meant for the man you’re going to marry. And now that we know we’re getting married, what’s the point of waiting? You’ll see when you’re engaged, Abby.” Kate turned on her side away from her. “Let’s get some sleep.”
Abby lay staring up at the blinking red smoke detector light on the dark ceiling, wondering if she even really knew her roommate any more.
Abby’s eyes popped open. Noises were coming through the walls again—only this time from room fourteen, and the passion involved was the angry kind. There was a loud thump and muffled shouts. The clock said 1:35. She sat up and looked at Kate’s shadowy form in the other bed. Another garbled shout came through the thin walls.
Kate bolted upright and turned to look at her. “What was that?”
Abby turned the sheet back and slipped out of bed. “I don’t know. Either the guys are duking it out or someone broke into their room and is murdering them.”
“Should we call the front desk?”
Abby felt around in the dark until she found the shirt she’d worn earlier and pulled it on over her pajamas. “Only if they’re being murdered. I’ll let you know.” She grabbed the room key, and then slid the deadbolt and stepped out into the hall.
She put her ear to the door of room fourteen. The voices came again, clearer this time. Definitely assault and battery, but apparently not perpetrated by an outsider. She knocked on the door. “John? What’s going on?”
After a pause, the door opened just enough for him to poke his head out. “Nothing, Abby. Go back to sleep.” He turned and shouted into the room, “I mean it, Turner.”
Kate came up beside her and pushed the door open. “Ryan? Are you all right?”
Ryan jumped up from the room’s small desk and stood there looking like a little boy caught with his hand in the cookie jar. “Kathryn? What are you doing here?”
“We heard loud noises. We woke up.”
John went to stand in solidarity beside Ryan in front of the desk. Neither seemed to be aware that they wore only boxer shorts. “It’s nothing,” John said. “We’re fine. You can go on back now.”
Abby walked over to them and stood waiting for John to get out of her way so she could see what was on the desk behind them.
Kate, not so polite, shoved herself between the two guys. And then Abby saw that John’s laptop was open, which of course was not at all unusual. The fact that she and Kate were frozen on its screen—dressed in their pajamas—was.
Abby blinked and felt her heart break a little. “John?”
“I can explain, Abby. Trust me. Please.”
Kate seemed to snap out of it first. She shut the laptop and glared first at John and then at Ryan.
“Kate, you won’t believe what I just saw.” Ryan tried to put his arms around her, but she shoved him away.
“Oh, I can imagine what you just saw.”
“It’s the program, Kathryn. It’s much more than a house tour thing. It’s awesome what you can do with this.”
Kate continued to glare at him. Apparently, Ryan was familiar with that old adage, a good offense is the best defense.
“But you already knew, didn’t you,” he said angrily. “You knew Abby and John have been going back in time with this thing. Why did you keep it from me?”
“They made me promise, Ryan.”
“Did you show him, John?” Abby asked.
“Heck no, Abby. Please trust me.”
“Just tell me what happened.”
“I woke up and there was Ryno pilfering my laptop.”
“I just wanted to see if I could make the program work. We weren’t getting anywhere with the genealogy and—”
“And for some reason, it’s working here tonight,” John said. “Even though the Shawnee Chief can’t be that old.”
“Maybe it was built over an older building.”
“Anyway, Ryno was sitting there with his mouth open watching the thing, and I figured I might as well explain it to him. So I was showing him how we can go backward—”
“And apparently forward,” Abby said drily.
“Yes, I ran forward in time more than I expected, and then there was this maid, so we followed her, and she went into room thirteen, and then you and Kate were there, and—I tried to stop it, but Ryan wouldn’t.”
“I was just figuring it out, practicing so we can use it to find your relatives, Kathryn. Just think what we can do with this.”
“Like create your own private porn channel, Ryan?” John said. “It’s just like I thought. If this gets out, no one will ever have any privacy again.”
Kate put her arm around Ryan’s waist and stood facing Abby and John. “He was trying to help. We just need to explain about our rules.”
John exhaled loudly and crossed his arms over his chest, looking like an angry bear in boxers.
“I’m sorry we didn’t let you in on it, Ryan,” Abby said. “But don’t you see John’s right? This thing is powerful. If it fell into the wrong hands…well, we just can’t let that happen. So promise you won’t tell anyone else, okay? We all agreed never to time-surf alone. And never in people’s bedrooms or bathrooms.”
“That includes motel rooms, sweetie,” Kate said.
“Speaking of porn,” Ryan said, “this actually would work—I mean, not that I would, but some people might really like—”
“Ryno, I am going to sock you in the mouth,” John said.
“All right, all right.”
Kate went up on her tiptoes and kissed Ryan’s cheek. “Okay, then. Let’s get some sleep. I can’t wait to try this thing out with you tomorrow.”
“Let’s concentrate on old-fashioned research first,” Abby said. “Maybe we’ll find something at the library or courthouse tomorrow.”
She started for the door and John hurried after her.
“Abby?”
She cupped his face with her hands. “I told you before, John. I trust you.”
He leaned down and kissed her.
She slipped under his arm and went to the desk. “But not necessarily you, Ryan.” She picked up the laptop and took it back to lucky room thirteen.
Chapter 13
John was calling her name. He wanted her to go with him to warn Merri that the recipe for snickerdoodles only called for a teaspoon of cream of tartar, not a tablespoon. Then Abby opened her eyes and realized John really was calling her. She scrambled to get her phone from the nightstand and flipped it open just as Kate sat up, mumbling incoherently.
“Hello?” her voice came out in a croak.
“Open the door, Abby,” John said. “Or we’re going to get arrested.”
Abby pulled the cotton blanket off the bed and wrapped herself in it as she went to the door.
John and Ryan stood there fully dressed and looking intense. “Can we come in?”
Yawning through her fingers, Abby opened the door and waved them in.
“What’s going on?” Kate mumbled from the bed where she sat looking part zombie and part sleepy toddler. “What time is it, anyway?”
“It’s three o’clock. Let’s go, Kathryn.” Ryan went to her open suitcase and began pulling things out. “Here, put this on,” he said, handing her a random shirt.
“Hey, stop that.”
“So how soon can you be ready?” John said. “You don’t have to put on makeup or anything, do you?”
“I’m not going anywhere until you explain,” Abby said.
“Now that I know what this program can do, we’re going back to Hickory Hill,” Ryan said.
“Obviously,” Abby said just as Ryan did.
Kate had claimed she wasn’t awake enough to drive and given the keys of her Cruiser to Ryan. He pulled the car into Hickory Hill Lane as far as the gate would allow and doused the lights.
Abby didn’t feel fully awake either. Until they got out and the humid night air smacked her in the face. Something was blooming nearby, giving off a sweet scent
, and a million tree frogs were making a racket in the woods. The moon, nearly full, cast its silvery light over them and everything not shaded by the trees.
“Be careful,” John whispered. “Remember how rough the gravel is.”
“Yes, I do remember, John. But what I don’t remember is what’s beyond the gate. Oh, wait. That’s because we have no idea what’s up the road. And we’re walking—trespassing—up the road in complete darkness. And by the way, if Chief Logan shows up again, I will disavow all knowledge of you.”
“Come on, Abby,” Kate said. “Be spontaneous for once. We’re having an adventure.”
A part of her was excited to have a middle-of-the-night adventure. The other part of her realized that this would probably go down as the stupidest thing she had ever gotten involved with in her whole life.
“Besides, the moon is so bright we can see the road just fine.”
“Well, don’t come crying to me, Kate, when you fall and break your neck.”
“If we stick to the road, we’ll be fine,” Ryan said.
“Trust me, I’m not leaving this road,” Kate said. “No telling what creatures are roaming around in the woods at night.”
“Oh, good,” Abby said. “Now I’ll be thinking about zombies.”
“Zombies, Abby? Really?” John laughed and took her hand. “Here, see?” He flipped on a small flashlight and trained it over the road and the trees surrounding it. “No worries.”
“What are you, a Boy Scout?” Ryan said. “You brought a flashlight along?”
“Never leave home without it,” he said, unperturbed.
Although the gravel was rough, at least there didn’t seem to be any potholes to worry about. But the lane was steep and seemed to go on forever. After a while Abby’s quads started to complain. They passed the ruins of an old barn, its roof caved in and door hanging open. Old farm implements sat rusting in front of it. John shone his light over it briefly, but they didn’t stop to explore.
And then, after they came around a curve in the lane, the house rose up before them, bathed in moonlight. Its windows were completely dark, but when they got closer Abby saw that a dim light came through the panes of the front door. Maybe Miss Granger had a nightlight on.
“Come on,” John said. “We can sit on the porch and try from there. No one even has to know we’re here.”
“So how does this program work?” Ryan asked.
“My brain is still mushy,” Abby said. “It will be easiest to just show you.”
Ryan wasn’t satisfied and asked a million questions until John gave in and explained most of the features. The program came up right away, and John adjusted it to 1849. He was trying to take them into the interior of the Hickory Hill Mansion when a man came through the front door and stood looking out at the landscape.
Ryan gasped and jerked away as if to hide from him.
“It takes a little getting used to, doesn’t it, sweetie?” Kate said. “But don’t worry. The man can’t see us. He doesn’t know we’re here.”
Ryan sniffed and settled back against the porch. “Obviously,” he said, apparently recovered from the shock. “Who is he?”
“It’s Mr. Granger. John and I saw him at the Methodist Church in Equality. His daughter married the famous General Lawler. Well, he wasn’t a general at the time. We saw him before the war when he was younger.”
“I think he was also Granger’s lawyer. They were discussing some business deal.”
John Granger took a cigar from his pocket, clipped the end, put it to his lips, and began to puff.
“I can smell it,” Ryan said.
“Just wait until we go virtual,” John said. “Everybody ready?”
“Do it,” Ryan said.
Abby saw John’s teeth gleaming in the darkness and knew that he was grinning. “Okay,” he said. “You asked for it.”
It was a beautiful morning and John Granger looked out from his little mountain with satisfaction. The dogwood and redbuds were blooming in his yard and lane, and green hayfields blanketed his acres at the bottom of Hickory Hill.
He wished, not for the first time, that his salt mine was visible from where he stood, even though it would have marred the pleasant vista before him. The hills and trees screened it from view, but in the distance he saw a wagon on Shawneetown Road carrying barrels of his salt.
He imagined the barrels being offloaded at the Ohio River by his Negroes and carried away by steamboat, eventually to be sold in other cities and towns, some as far away as New Orleans. And in his mind’s eye he also saw his money piling up in the big bank in Shawneetown.
He smiled at his fancifulness and then took out his pocket watch. It was time to get to work. Just as he thought it, Jim came around from the back with the carriage. The boy hanging on the back—he couldn’t remember this one’s name—jumped down and hurried to lower the step for him.
And then they were off down his lane. He spent the time it took to get to the salt mine considering the current crop of problems that his overseer Tom Yancey had brought to him. One of the barrel makers had been injured last week, and now according to Yancey, the wound—on the man’s hand, drat it—had become so infected he was no longer able to work. He was their best barrel maker, too. When he got to the salt mine, he would check the supply of barrels to decide whether he should hire someone new or if he had the luxury of waiting around to see whether or not the man’s hand had to be amputated. Perhaps he should just go ahead and fire him for being stupid enough to cut himself in the first place.
And then there was the fuel situation. Yancey and the other overseers had been after him to make a decision. The timber was being depleted faster than he had thought possible, and they were going farther and farther afield to acquire it and thus taking longer and longer to get it to the furnaces. If he didn’t want production to fall, he would soon have to have more woodcutters and wagon teams to bring the fuel to them. One solution was to pump the saline to the source of the fuel. That would necessitate hiring carpenters to hollow out logs to create the pipeline and more masons to build more brick furnaces.
Yancey insisted they should switch to coal. Granger didn’t know much about coal—either mining it or burning it. But he suspected the furnaces would have to be modified to accommodate it.
There was no getting around it. He needed to hire more trained craftsmen, which would mean a hit on his profits. And he’d have to get more Negroes for the rough work. They were always getting themselves killed one way or another.
Even though the salt mine wasn’t visible from his porch, it wasn’t truly far away, and Jim drove the carriage into the mine yard before he had time to finish considering his options.
He was struck anew with wonder at the bustling hive of activity. Negroes worked to keep the furnaces stoked. Others stirred the brine in the iron evaporation kettles. When the crystals formed on the sides of the kettle they ladled it into baskets overhead to drain and then hauled it to the drying sheds to become beautiful, white salt. There, other Negroes filled barrels and loaded them onto wagons for the trip to Shawneetown.
Granger recited the numbers to himself for the sheer enjoyment of it: fourteen furnaces, each with fifty kettles and manned by thirty Negroes, working seven days a week to make fifteen bushels of salt a day, each of which sold for two dollars. It took two hundred gallons of brine to make one bushel of salt. As it stood so far, it took forty Negroes to cut the wood and fifteen wagon teams to haul it. With the carpenters, cooks, blacksmiths, masons, barrel makers, and the five overseers, Granger was in charge of over five hundred men.
He allowed himself a small smile of satisfaction as he got down from the carriage. He would hear reports from his overseers first off. But before he got far, the beauty of the morning was ruined by screaming coming from somewhere down the line. Tom Yancey hurried up to him. “Sorry for all the caterwauling, Mr. Granger. One of the niggers tripped and fell into the boilin’ brine.”
Granger’s face grew red and he cursed. �
�There goes another one. I trust that not too much spilled.”
The front porch light came on and Abby went catapulting back into the present. She covered her eyes and scooted over closer to John. A rattling sound came from the door, telling them someone inside was trying to open it.
She didn’t wait to be told, just scurried off the porch with its revealing light and down the dark driveway. She heard panting and the crunch of gravel and was relieved to know the others were right behind her. When she was sure they were far enough away, she looked back and saw that a tiny, white-haired lady stood at the half-opened door.
“Who’s out there?” she called in a wavering voice.
A jolt of guilt hit Abby at the note of fear she heard. “This wasn’t supposed to happen, John.”
Taking her arm, he led her farther down the lane. “She must have heard the man screaming.”
The woman stuck her head farther out the door and looked cautiously around. At last, muttering something about the “blasted coyotes,” she went back in and shut the door.
“Well, that was a complete waste of time,” Ryan said. “Why didn’t you time-surf inside the house instead of following Granger to the salt mine?”
“I had it set to Interior, but the program locked onto him instead.”
“Let me try next time,” Ryan said.
“You can try, I guess, but the program sometimes seems to have a mind of its own about what it wants us to see.”
“That’s ridiculous.”
“Nevertheless…”
“Come on,” Kate said. “Let’s go back to the motel and get as much sleep as we can.”
“We’re going to be so tired tomorrow,” Abby said.
Chapter 14
They were tired, but not as tired as Shawneetown looked. Under the bright light of day, the town, like an aging woman, showed every sag and wrinkle. According to the brochure Abby had picked up in the motel before they headed out to find breakfast, Shawneetown was established after the Revolutionary War to serve as the center of government for the Northwest Territory. Other than Washington, D.C., it was the only town in the country to be chartered by the United States government. The first federal land office as well as the first bank in Illinois were built in Shawneetown. The bank pictured in the brochure was an impressive five-story, neo-classical Greek monument to finance. And pride. When the fledgling town of Chicago had come asking the bank to buy its civic bonds, the bank had turned them down, saying Chicago would never amount to anything. After all, it didn’t have access to a major river.
