by Deborah Heal
Shawneetown was located on the Ohio River, but that blessing was often offset by flooding. Its citizens were used to floods, but then in 1937 one came that was so huge it took the town away. Determined to persevere, they rebuilt the town on higher ground.
But even New Shawneetown looked old, dying actually. It obviously wouldn’t be winning the governor’s award for best little town in Illinois any time soon. And yet Abby found its stubborn unwillingness to give up appealing. She didn’t consider herself fanciful, but a sense of time and history pressed in on her as they drove slowly around town on the lookout for golden arches or other fast food signs.
They didn’t find any, but they did find the courthouse and library, right next to the Dollar Store just as Mrs. Barnett, the soap woman, had described. And a block down from that they found Belle’s Diner. The food was good, the service friendly, and even Ryan found nothing to complain about.
“Anyone want more coffee before we go?” Abby asked. “We should probably hurry. No telling how much time it will take to find anything useful.”
They sat there looking at each other’s tired faces. John was the first to voice what everyone was obviously thinking. “Why should we waste time digging through dusty historical files when we can live it at Hickory Hill?”
“Let’s go,” Kate said. “Maybe Miss Granger will let us in. If not, we can do more surfing from the porch.”
“We have to be getting close. Everyone help me look for the road sign,” Kate said.
It should have been easier to spot Hickory Hill Lane in the daylight, but everything looked so different from the night before.
“I must have gone too far,” Kate said. “I’m going to turn around.”
“Try the GPS, Ryan,” Abby said.
“How hard can it be to find? It has to be close.”
“Just do it, Rye,” John said.
“Oh, all right.”
Kate pulled into a driveway and then headed back north. When they came around a bend in the road, she gasped and then stomped on the brakes, causing her passengers to screech as loudly as her tires did. Fortunately, no one rear-ended them, although a driver laid on his horn and shot them a dirty look as he went around them.
“Kathryn!” Ryan said.
Kate pulled onto the shoulder. “Look. There it is.”
Trying to calm her racing heart, Abby lowered her window and studied the Granger mansion standing in isolated glory on the tall hill before them. They had caught only glimpses of the back of it with Patty Ann. And last night, no matter how bright the moon, they hadn’t seen it clearly. Now in daylight it was magnificent, even if a little strange-looking. Judging by its relative size at the distance they were from it, it had to be huge. It was painted a rusty red with white trim. Twelve pillars supported first and second-story verandas, giving it a faintly Greek style like some weird version of the Parthenon.
“See if we can get a closer look, Kate,” Abby said.
Kate pulled back onto the highway without terrifying them any further, and then after about a half mile, she found Hickory Hill Lane. The house wasn’t visible because even in full daylight the trees were too dense to see more than a little way up the curving lane.
But today, the gate stood open, the No Trespassing sign no longer screaming its warning at them.
“Hurry, Kathryn,” Ryan said. “Drive on up a little and get us off the highway.”
“At times like this, I wish I didn’t have such a distinctive license plate. It makes me a clear target if Chief Logan would happen to drive by.”
“The way I read it,” John said, “the absence of the no trespassing sign means ‘hey, come on in for a visit.’”
Kate chuckled and after a quick look around began to ascend Hickory Hill. The trees grew close, creating a dense shade. The car’s engine labored, and Abby wondered if it had the power needed to make it to the top. They passed the old barn they had seen the night before, then after a bit they came out of the trees into sunlight, and the mansion rose up before them. Kate stopped the car, and they sat staring at it.
“Should I go on? Or what?”
“A little more,” John said.
She pulled closer to the house and stopped again.
John got out of the car. “You guys stay here. If we all go to the door, it’ll look like an invasion of book salesmen.”
“Don’t flatter yourself. They dress better,” Ryan said.
Abby opened her door and got out. “No matter how cute I think you look,” she said with a grin, “you’ll look less threatening with a female presence.”
John sighed. “Okay. You may be right.” He took her hand. “Cute, huh?”
Beige sheers covered the front door’s two windowpanes. They weren’t sheer enough for Abby to see into the dimness behind them. Tinny music came from inside, so garbled she couldn’t make out what it was. The doorbell was a brass knob engraved with a curling letter G. It clicked when Abby turned it but didn’t produce any other sound that she could hear. After a minute had passed, John rapped on the windowpane.
The curtain pulled back, and a little, wizened face haloed in stringy white hair popped into view. Abby jumped in surprise and came down on John’s foot. He yelped and caught her arm to steady her.
The door opened and the tiniest and oldest lady Abby had ever seen looked up at them suspiciously. She wore a floor-length black dress, frayed and faded, that looked more like something Mary Lincoln would have worn than any twenty-first century woman. Although it looked nothing like a wedding dress, Abby suddenly thought of Miss Havisham and felt a totally inappropriate urge to laugh.
Instead, she coughed into her hand. “Hello, ma’am. We’re here because—”
“Did you bring my cheese crackers?”
“No,” Abby said, glancing at John. He looked back at her as if to say the ball was in her court. The hall behind the woman was paneled in some dark wood, and she got a glimpse of a similarly dark staircase. The tinny music seemed to be coming from an upper floor.
“Ma’am, I’m Abby Thomas and this is John Roberts.” She paused to allow the woman to volunteer her own name, but she only adjusted her glasses and continued to study them. “We’re doing family research for a friend. Her relative is connected to Hickory Hill.”
“I don’t care much for the kind with peanut butter.”
“We’re trying to find the Greenfield family, ma’am,” John added.
The woman smiled suddenly, revealing tiny, yellowed teeth. “Abraham Lincoln came to Hickory Hill. Not while he was president. I wouldn’t try to fool you about that. He and Mr. Lamborn had a debate over at the courthouse in Equality while he was campaignin’ for President Harrison. Mr. Lincoln told us how the crowds sang Tippecanoe and Tyler Too! Afterwards, we had a party. The servants set up tables under the trees yonder. They barbecued at least three hogs. And then that night there was the ball. Oh, you should have seen the ladies dressed in satin and lace! And the gentlemens dressed so fine, too. We danced the Virginia Reel all evening long. Mr. Lincoln danced well for such a tall man. He was quite in demand with the ladies. I kept hoping he’d ask me to dance again, but he spread his charms among all the ladies present. In the ballroom upstairs. Would you like to see it?”
The old woman opened the door a little farther, but Abby felt rooted to the front porch. She did some fast calculations. Sure, the woman looked ancient, but she’d have to be nearly two hundred years old to have danced the Virginia Reel with Abraham Lincoln.
The hair on the back of her neck stood up, and she glanced over at John. He was scratching his head. His laptop was still in the car. But even if he had booted up Beautiful Houses right there on the porch, the program wouldn’t actually take them physically back in time. Nevertheless, Abby spun around to check that Kate’s car was still there. Yep. They were still in the twenty-first century.
Patty Ann’s voice came down the hall staircase. “Miss Granger,” she called, “I’m fixin’ to turn on the vacuum sweeper, okay?” After a be
at, the vacuum came on and blended in with the tinny music. And then the rattling sound of it being dragged back and forth over bare wood floors joined the mix.
“Could we please come in and—” In sudden concern, John stooped to look at the old woman’s face.
Miss Granger’s eyes were wide with what looked like terror. Slapping her hands over her ears, she turned and looked fearfully up the stairs. “All those girls,” she moaned. Bird-like, her head swiveled back to them on her thin neck and she grabbed Abby’s arm in a surprisingly strong grip. “Do you hear them cryin’?”
“It’s the vacuum, Miss Granger,” Abby said, patting her hand.
The old woman’s face cleared a bit. She released Abby’s arm and shoved her back. “You all go on. There’s nothin’ to look at here.” The door slammed in their faces, and the lock turned. The vacuum continued, overlaid with the sound of Miss Granger weeping.
“Well,” Abby said as they stepped down from the porch. “We sure made her day.”
When they got back to the car, Abby told Kate and Ryan what had happened.
“Isn’t there something we can do?” Kate asked.
“I’m going to try again to make it take us inside the house.” John grabbed his backpack and started back toward the house.
“It’s worth a try,” Kate said.
“But she was crying, John,” Abby said. “She’s upset and thought that—”
“If we keep low she won’t even notice we’re out here.”
“Don’t you want to find Ned Greenfield?” Ryan said. “For once I agree with Roberts.”
Kate opened the door and got out. “I don’t mean any disrespect, but she’s wacky, Abby. She’s probably forgotten all about us by now.”
Abby sighed. “Well, if you’re sure she won’t see us.”
“I’ll move the car back down the lane a bit,” Ryan said. “In case she happens to look out.”
They moved up the porch steps as quickly and quietly as they could and then sat down under the window where they wouldn’t be seen from inside. John opened his laptop and it began booting up.
He was able to take them inside the house this time and they watched the Granger family living rather boring lives. The daughters did a lot of embroidering or writing in their diaries. Mrs. Granger spent hour upon hour playing a huge mahogany piano. The sons and Mr. Granger were seldom there, presumably off amassing more money at their salt-making business.
Guests visited from time to time, which probably went a long way to break up the monotony of their lives but did nothing to help them find the information Kate needed. And they had parties. Abby had just spotted a guest that looked a lot like Abraham Lincoln, only without the beard, when a noise from the present intruded.
Chief Logan stood glaring down at them. “What in the cat hair are y’all doin’ here disturbin’ Miss Granger? I told you there wasn’t anything here you needed to see.”
“We didn’t mean to upset her,” Abby said.
“We just wanted to ask her a few questions,” Ryan said. “It’s a free country, isn’t it?”
Naturally, Ryan’s attitude annoyed Chief Logan—as it did everyone except Kate. “Guess you folks didn’t see the No Trespassing sign.” He smiled, but not in a friendly way. “But wait. I seem to recall discussing that with y’all last night.”
“But the gate—”
“John,” Abby said quickly, “don’t go there, okay?”
“You and you,” Chief Logan said, pointing to John and Ryan, “are coming with me. If you ladies want your young men back, you’ll have to follow along to the station in your car.”
Chapter 15
Abby had to keep reminding Kate the whole way into town that they were following a policeman. They couldn’t break the speed limit or tailgate no matter how much of a hurry they were in to get the guys back. The chief had already gone in by the time they pulled up to the Equality Municipal Building. It was newish and brightly lit. A pretty receptionist, who looked no older than they, was apparently waiting for them. John and Ryan had already been whisked out of sight.
“I hear you’re writing about our town,” she said.
“No,” Abby said. “We’re doing research.”
“Family research,” Kate added.
The receptionist looked unconvinced. She probably heard all manner of excuses from felons. “Well, you can have a seat in the waiting area until Chief Logan gets it all sorted out.”
They sank into the hard plastic chairs and looked around. Signs indicated the building housed offices for the utility company, the mayor and city clerk, and the police department. Abby wanted to go back to the counter and ask the receptionist whether John and Ryan had been taken to a cell or to be photographed and fingerprinted or what. But the young woman had already gone to her desk and begun typing about two million words a minute.
Wherever they were, the guys weren’t with Chief Logan. The window blinds on his office were open, and they saw him reclining in his chair, talking into a telephone he held under his chin.
“Why doesn’t he say something?” Kate asked. “How long is he going to make us sit here?”
Abby looked up at the clock on the wall. “You realize it’s only been six minutes? Calm down. And try to look innocent if Chief Logan turns our way.”
A door across the lobby opened and a frowning policeman came out. He walked briskly toward them, his police-issue shoes squeaking on the gray linoleum floor. Abby’s heart rate kicked up and she felt faint. Would he be the one to take them to be fingerprinted? But he passed by them without speaking and went into the chief’s office, closing the door behind himself.
“They’ll get to make a phone call, won’t they?” Kate asked. “Or is that only on TV?”
“I think so.” Abby got out her phone and saw that the reception was terrible. Only one bar showed. She tried to decide whom she should call before she got taken to a cell. Her parents would go spastic, but there really was no other option. Her best friend was sitting next to her, in just as much in hot water as she was. She took a cleansing breath and put her phone back in her purse. Maybe this would all get worked out and they wouldn’t have to know about her run-in with the law. At least not for a very long time.
But somebody ought to know where they were, just in case this whole thing turned out to be like that movie where the sheriff murdered outsiders who came to his town. Abby took out her phone again.
“Who are you calling?”
“Don’t worry. Just Merri.” Sure, she was only eleven, but she was smart and solid. She angled herself away from the receptionist’s desk and Chief Logan’s window as best she could but still felt like she was in a fishbowl.
Merri’s home phone rang six times and then went to the answering machine. Abby mumbled a garbled message about finding Hickory Hill and Ned Greenfield, only not the right one, and in case she didn’t call back in a few days Merri should consider calling the Equality Police Station, only it wasn’t serious. Probably. And Chief Logan seemed nice. So she shouldn’t worry about them because they would surely be the only inmates. Probably. Because how many hardened criminals could a town the size of Equality have anyway?
Abby hurriedly signed off when the frowning policeman came out of Chief Logan’s office with some official-looking documents. He walked over and handed them to the receptionist, and after a whispered conversation with her, went back out the door he had come from.
“Do you suppose those were arrest warrants?” Kate asked.
“Maybe,” Abby said.
The big clock on the wall said it was ten-twenty.
Mayor Windham came out of his office, looked around, and then zeroed in on Abby and Kate. He put up a finger and said, “Wait right there.” As if they had a choice. He went back into his office, then came out again after a minute and strode over to where they sat, carrying a stack of tourist type brochures.
“Here.” He handed Abby one titled Guide to Southern Illinois Fishing and one to Kate called Native American Arti
facts in the Saline River Basin.
“Thanks, Mayor Windham,” Kate said.
His face fell at Kate’s lackluster response. “I’ve got even better ones,” he said eagerly, flipping through the stack in his hands. “Southeastern Illinois Clean Coal: Fueling Better Lives, Shawneetown Bank State Historic Site, Ohio River Scenic Byway: River to the Nation, Garden of the Gods: Gateway to the Shawnee National Forest, Gallatin County Songs and Folk Tales. Oh, and this one’s good: Fluorspar: The Official Mineral of Illinois. Of course, Patty Ann already told you all about salt, but just in case you need to refresh your memory, here’s one called When Salt Was King. I know you’ll want to get your facts straight. And I’d be glad to repeat the stuff about Little Egypt if you want to take notes this time.”
“That’s all right. I think we’re good,” Kate said.
“Thanks,” Abby said. “This will keep our minds busy while we wait.”
“Okay,” Mayor Windham said. “Don’t be afraid to ask if you need any more information.” He hurried back to his office and shut the door.
“Wow,” Kate said. “They sure are nice to convicts.”
“And committed to education, apparently.”
Kate must have sensed the panic rising in Abby’s chest, because she reached over and gave her a hug. “Don’t worry, Abbicus. I’m sure we’ll just be fined or something.”
But would it go on their permanent records? Would she and Kate be kicked out of Ambassador College? Would she be reduced to a career in hamburger flipping? Worse yet, would her parents wear that same look of disappointment that Brother Greenfield had?
