by Deborah Heal
“She knows,” Brother Greenfield said. “I think it’s part of what’s got her so tied up in knots.”
Ryan looked at his watch again. “Well, let’s get back to time-surfing.”
“We were watching your Ned Greenfield,” Kate said. “It was awful. Granger had him chained to that post. Are you sure you want to watch this? If you want, we could tell you what we find out.”
“Oh, honey, I was just thinking the same thing about y’all. I hate for you to see what went on up in this room. But as distasteful as it will be, I want to know what happened to Ned. It would set Uncle Henry’s mind to rest.”
“Are you sure?” John asked.
“Go ahead.”
Ned stretched out his arms and legs. They moved sure enough, but hurt like demons were gnawing on them. His shirt was torn to pieces from the rough ground he’d been dragged over. He ran his hand over his chest and belly and found wounds there, but at least the blood was sticky and not running.
Nelson! He gasped and fire wrapped around his ribs, which made him gasp all over again. Then he remembered Master Granger said he wasn’t dead. Said he put him to work at Half Moon. Ned groaned. He might as well have said Nelson was dead.
He had walked past Half Moon many times. The salt slaves lived in even rougher huts than Master Granger’s field workers. Was Nelson bleeding in one all alone?
He’d seen them working and knew there were lots of ways to die making salt. He’d heard about a man being crushed by a wagon loaded with salt barrels that got away from them. Another man was hit by a flying axe-head as he cut down trees to keep the furnaces fed. Another was burned when a boiling saltwater kettle tipped over on him. They had heard his screams out in the fields as they chopped weeds in the corn. They said it took him nearly a week to die.
The slave graveyard was down that way. And plenty of times when he walked past it, there was a fresh-dug grave with a fresh-carved wooden marker. It had to be easy to carve the words in the wood. But there weren’t near as many of them on the slave markers as there were on the granite ones in the Granger family cemetery. They put the slaves’ names on the markers, surely. But did they put how they died on them? Did they say where they came from? Who their families were?
Oh, Nelson!
Mama had picked the name Greenfield for them because Master John promised her that her children would work the fields and not ever make salt. Master loved Mama’s cooking that much. That other thought tried to wedge its way in, but Ned wouldn’t let it get a hold in his head. It was Mama’s cooking that Master liked.
Oh, Mama!
Pain streaked through Ned’s chest, and he put his hands to his heart to keep it from ripping in two. Pap and Nelson and Nancy Jane and Maybelle, and Baby Lizzie. Where were they this lonesome night? How would he ever find them now he was chained to a post like a dog? At least Mama wasn’t there to see it. And that her other boy was working the salt after all.
Metal scraped against metal, and he knew that someone was working the lock in the door. Lantern light streamed into the darkness and he covered his eyes. He tried to sit up, but an explosion of pain in his head put him right back down on the floor. The door was relocked and he heard a soft shuffle of footsteps coming toward him.
“I’m here to tend you,” a female voice said. She set the lantern by him, and he turned his face away when the light threatened to burn out his eyeballs. Mercifully she moved it away and he turned back. She was not as young as her voice had sounded. She was blacker than he was and, except for her calico head covering, melted into the darkness. She looked ten kinds of sad, but her face was set like she was determined to get a bad thing over and done with.
He heard water trickling and then he saw that she had set a bucket of water next to him. She wrung a rag out and wiped his face with it. The warmth of it was soothing and he tried not to flinch.
“Who you be, ma’am?”
“I don’t be no ma’am, that’s sure. I be Master John’s house gal Lil.” Water from the rag ran down his neck behind the iron collar, and he wondered if it would rust away given enough time. She opened the shreds of his shirt and began dabbing at the wounds on his chest. He tried to pull his shirt back. His mother was the only woman that had ever touched him and that had been years ago.
“You just lie still. Master John say to clean you up. He say to tell you…he say to show you what your new job be.”
“I’m not going to Half Moon then?”
“No, you goin’ stay right here. He say if you be nice he take off this thing.” She thumped her finger against the iron collar. “You’d like that right enough, I ’spect.”
“Yes, ma’am—I mean yes.”
“Master John, he don’t got enough mens to make the salt. He say he ain’t to get no more from Kentucky, not Missouri neither. Master John, he got gals though. He tell them gals if they make fifteen babies they can go north.” She held up her ten fingers. “That’s this many.” She closed her left hand, leaving her right fingers extended. “And this many.” She put the rag back in the bucket and then took up her lantern and aimed its light around the room.
Ned rolled onto his side and followed the lantern’s light with his half-shut eyes. A dozen chains hung from the walls. Near each was a narrow sleeping pallet and a lidded pot.
“Master John, he pick the strongest gals and bring them here soon as they ready.” Her voice was as rusty as a nail in the rain. She wiped at her eyes and stood there looking down at him. “Master John, he say I got to show you how.”
As her meaning sunk into his skull at last, he pulled himself to his feet, his head near cracking open, and backed away from her. “Why you talkin’ that way, Lil? I’m the one with a broken head, not you.”
She followed him until he reached the end of the chain. His eyes went strange again and he felt himself starting to fall, but she took his arm and eased him back to the floor.
Chapter 23
John was stomping across the floor when Abby snapped back to the present.
“Did I say Reverse Underground Railroad?” He held his clenched fists close to his sides and stared up at the window in the eaves. The sky showing through the boards was black now, the clouds shutting out most of the light from the moon and stars. “More like Perverse Underground Railroad.”
Abby closed the laptop and went to him. He turned and pulled her into his arms.
“Why did you shut it down?” Ryan muttered. “It was just getting interesting.”
“Do you really think so, Rye?” John said, his voice dangerously quiet.
“Ryan!” Kate said.
Brother Greenfield pulled his handkerchief from his pocket and wiped his eyes.
Ryan seemed to suddenly remember he was there and mumbled an apology. “Anyway, I was right. This Ned said that his mother made up the Greenfield name. They didn’t have a white master named Ned Greenfield. She made it up. See, I was right, Kathryn.” He took her into his arms and tried to spin her into a dance.
She struggled until she had freed herself. “Ryan, stop it.”
“Don’t you get it? He’s the wrong Ned Greenfield. I was right all along. Admit it.”
“Or maybe it proves the exact opposite. If there was no other Ned Greenfield, then he’s the one I’m related to.”
Brother Greenfield snorted a laugh and held his black arm against her white one. The contrast was obvious. Only hers showed up in the dim light. “Not likely, honey.”
“Well, we still need to follow him,” Kate said. “To find out if he goes to Chicago.”
“I thought I could watch this, but I was wrong.” Brother Greenfield turned to go.
“You won’t have to watch it,” John said coming back to the laptop. “You all turn away. I’ll fast-forward until I see when he leaves here.”
“Why do you get to watch, Roberts?”
“Turner, could you please just…just…shut up?”
Ryan huffed and crossed his arms across his chest. “Well.”
“Okay,
here goes,” John said. “I’ll have to slow it down from time to time to check. I’ll let you know when it’s safe to look.”
Everyone turned away, although Kate had to tug at Ryan’s arm. The sound of the computer whirring was the only thing Abby heard for several minutes.
Then the whirring stopped and John said, “Dang it.”
“What’s wrong?” Abby said.
“You can look now.”
It was all gone—Ned and Lil, the third floor room, Hickory Hill itself. The Beautiful Houses slide show was in full swing.
“You went too far forward, Roberts,” Ryan said.
There was a shuffling sound from the stairs and then Miss Granger was there. She reached up and flipped a light switch none of them had noticed. The ugly yellow light made the room even more horrible. She was wearing another museum-quality long dress, this one a midnight blue studded in matching sequins on the hemline and mutton sleeves.
“I heard the music,” she said, smiling gaily. “We’re gettin’ an early start on the dancin’, aren’t we?”
Patty Ann went to her and took her arm. “Miss Granger, I thought you’d gone to bed.”
“I couldn’t sleep. At first I thought it was the girls cryin’ again. But then I knew it was the music.”
She pulled away from Patty Ann and went to Abby. “I’m delighted you could make it.” She held out her hand and Abby shook it gently. “And your charming young man.” She smiled up at John and put her hand on his arm. Then she frowned and patted her left wrist. “I seem to have misplaced my dance card.” She laughed again. “But never mind. I saved a dance just for you.”
He took her arm. “Miss Granger, I think you’d better go with Patty Ann.”
Turning away from him, she stumbled. Brother Greenfield extended a hand but then pulled it back as if he thought his help would be unwelcome.
Miss Granger seemed to notice him for the first time. Her eyes went huge and she put her hands to her cheeks. “Why did you have to come back?”
“Miss Granger? It’s me, Brother Greenfield.”
She moved her hands from her cheeks to her ears. “The girls. All those girls. Do you hear them crying?”
“They’re not crying anymore, Miss Granger,” Brother Greenfield said. “All those horrible things are long past.”
Miss Granger wiped her eyes with the backs of her hands and then turned to Abby and looked earnestly into her face. “Don’t ever call them niggers or they’ll cut off your ears.”
“Miss Granger, there’s no need to be afraid. I’d never hurt you, no matter what you called me.”
She began sobbing and would have fallen except Brother Greenfield caught her. “Oh, ma’am, don’t cry. I’m Alex, not Ned. And you’re not John Granger. But even if you were, I’d forgive you.”
“How can you?” she sobbed.
“How can I not after all the Lord’s forgiven me? Do you have a Bible, Miss Granger?”
“Yes, Patty Ann gave me one, bless her heart.”
“Then let’s go downstairs. I want to read you one of the Lord’s parables—the one about the wicked servant.”
“I’ll get the Bible,” Patty Ann said and followed them down the stairs.
Ryan looked at his watch. “Now can we go, Kathryn? We can be back in Chicago by midnight or one if we leave right now.”
“Merri,” Abby said. “I forgot to call her back. She wanted to know—” Abby shut her mouth and then opened it again. She probably looked like a fish. “The man in the attic. She was trying to tell me about the man in Charlotte’s attic. Remember? The one with the iron slave collar?”
“What are you talking about?” Ryan asked.
“Charlotte told him to go to Chicago,” Abby said. “To look for a man named Moody.”
“Maybe,” John said. “After all, he was only sixteen or so when he was brought here. He’d have changed.”
“What man?” Ryan said.
“You know,” Abby said. “The slaves we saw in Charlotte’s attic the night you and Kate arrived in Miles Station.”
Ryan snorted. “Guess I missed that trip,” he said sarcastically.
“Oh, sorry.”
“And if he did make it safely to Chicago…,” Kate said slowly. “Where my Greenfield ancestors all came from. Well, that’s just wild.”
“We’re back on the trail,” John said. “Come on. Let’s go.”
Chapter 24
Merri was sitting in the dark on her porch petting Kit Kat when they finally got back to Miles Station. She jumped up and came down the sidewalk to hug Abby.
“You should be in bed, Merri Christmas,” John said, ruffling her hair on his way past. “It’s after one.”
“Are you kidding? After you called, I tried it and it’s working again. Come on, I’ve got it all set up.”
“Okay, kiddo,” Abby said. “Show us what you found.”
“Everyone be quiet on the stairs, okay? Mom went to bed with one of her headaches.”
“And, Lord, please bring Mr. Bartlett to us soon, and protect those under this roof from those who would do them harm. And, dear Lord, give me the strength—and time enough—to get everything done that needs doing. Amen.”
Charlotte rose from her knees by her bed and hurried from the room. It was too cold to dawdle. In the kitchen she stoked the stove and then made a trip out to the smoke house for a slab of salt pork. She sliced it and then mixed up a batch of cornbread batter in her blue bowl. She put the cornbread on to bake in one iron skillet and the salt pork on to fry in another.
Someone knocked on the back door and then opened it before Charlotte could finish wiping her hands on her apron.
“Lucinda Brown, what are you doing here so early in the morning?” At twenty-five, Lucinda was four years older than Charlotte but her dearest, best friend.
“Early, late, and middle of the day. I’m here, Charlotte, to lend my assistance if you’re going to be foolish enough to continue conducting passengers on the Underground Railroad while also tending to the passengers of the Chicago & Alton.”
“Well, I expect I’ve got railroading in my blood.” Charlotte peeked into the oven and saw that the cornbread was coming along nicely. “As if you and your father don’t do the same thing in Brighton. And how is Doctor Brown?”
“He’s well, thank you. And besides him I’ve got a sister and two brothers to help with the cause. You have no one.”
“Don’t let Joshua hear you say that.”
“Well, yes, of course, dear Joshua.” Lucinda took her bonnet off and hung it on a peg by the back door. “Where is the boy? He can bring my case in.”
“You’re serious about staying?” Charlotte said.
“You know me. I’m always serious.”
Charlotte hugged her friend in relief. “That’s wonderful, Lucinda. So would you keep watch down here while I take breakfast up?”
“Certainly. I aim to please.”
“If anyone should happen to stop by—”
“Don’t worry, Lottie, I know what to do.”
They loaded the food in a basket and Charlotte took it up to the attic. The morning sun shining through the small windows painted stripes on her guests, making them look all the more like the prisoners they were.
Sally and her boys Solomon and Little Frank smiled and thanked her when she set the cornbread and salt pork down for them.
Charlotte had plenty of work waiting for her downstairs, but she knew it was pure agony for them to be confined there with nothing to do but wait another whole day, hoping that Mr. Bartlett would come for them.
“How would you boys like a story while you have your breakfast?”
Eyes sparkling, they nodded excitedly.
“Once upon a time, there were three little pigs,” Charlotte said. “The first little pig …”
“Oh, for crying out loud,” Ryan said. “Skip past the fairy tales and get to the guy you say is Ned Greenfield.”
Merri glared at him. “I’m trying, Ryan. Besides
, I happen to like watching Charlotte.”
“She’s right,” Abby said. “You ought to know by now how easy it is to go too far forward or backward.”
Ryan sniffed. “Just try to skim past all the unimportant stuff. If you know how.”
“He’s there. Just be patient,” Merri said.
“I am in earnest,’” Charlotte read from The Liberator. “I will not equivocate—I will not excuse—I will not retreat a single inch—and I will be heard.” She rose from her seat on the wooden trunk and folded the newspaper. “There now. What do you think about that?”
“That be fine talking,” Sally said, nodding her head wisely.
“Did you understand what Mr. Garrison means?”
Sally looked down and patted her sons’ heads as they lay drowsing next to her. “Not rightly, ma’am.”
Charlotte had not expected that Sally would understand much of it. But she had known somehow that the man in the corner would. She couldn’t make out his face in the shadows, but she saw that he sat leaning against the wall, alert.
“When Mr. Garrison says popular but ‘pernicious doctrine of gradual abolition,’ he’s arguing that slavery should be done away with right now. Not gradually like many people want.”
Charlotte returned the newspaper to the trunk. “I’ve got to go downstairs for a while, but it’s getting dark. If Mr. Bartlett’s coming tonight, he’ll be here soon. You won’t have long to wait now.”
Just as she was about to descend the stairs the man in the shadows spoke at last. His voice was still croaky, but a bit stronger.
“For Mr. Bartlett—or for freedom?”
Charlotte smiled sadly. “For both, I pray.”
Just before she shut the door at the bottom of the stairs, she heard Sally softly singing a mournful song about being a poor wayfaring stranger.
She had hoped that Mr. Bartlett would come take them on to their next stop the evening before. Something must have made him nervous. It didn’t pay for a conductor to get careless. But he’d come when it was safe.
