by Laura Ruby
“We’re so sorry,” Tess said. “We didn’t know where—”
“You just opened a door in my gorgeous stone wall, a door I didn’t know was there,” the woman said. “How did you get it open? Where did you come from?” She stalked to the wall they’d just burst through and peered down the stone steps. “What in the world . . . ?” she said, her voice echoing off the stone.
The Asian woman stepped off the pedestal on which she’d been standing, carefully gathering up the hem of the dress/muumuu/caftan, trying not to disturb the pins studding the bottom. “What’s down there, Janice?”
“I have absolutely no idea,” said the taller woman. “Perhaps the children would like to explain it to us before I call all their parents.”
Theo didn’t even bother opening his mouth because he knew he’d say the wrong thing, like asking if this woman had any parrots, or if she was planning on getting some, because they would look really great with her earrings, in his inexpert opinion on fashion. Tess opened her mouth and closed it several times, as if conjuring up then discarding one lie after the other, lies that maybe other people might believe but this tall goddess wouldn’t buy for a second.
Jaime said, “I think we found part of the Underground Railroad.”
“What?” said the tall woman and the smaller woman simultaneously.
“We did?” said Theo and Tess simultaneously.
Jaime told the women that he and his friends had been exploring a construction site and found a way into the basement of the building next door. In that basement, hidden behind a pile of rocks, there was an opening to a very old tunnel leading down underneath the building. They knew they shouldn’t, but they decided to enter the tunnel. They walked that long, stone tunnel and noticed that there were names scratched into the stone on the walls, names like Sam and Beulah and Solomon, but also a lot of Xs. He couldn’t be sure, Jaime said, but somehow he got the most powerful feeling that those were the names and marks of people trying to escape something terrible, and they wrote their names and made their marks just in case they didn’t make it, even if it was a risk to do so.
For some reason, the story didn’t sound vague or even that strange when Jaime told it. It sounded right, and true.
The tall woman, Janice, considered Jaime for what seemed like a very long time.
Finally, she said, “What’s your name, young man?”
“Jaime Cruz, ma’am.”
“You wouldn’t be lying to me, Jaime Cruz, would you?”
“No, ma’am.”
“So if I were to walk down those stairs and into that tunnel, I would find those names and those Xs scratched into the stone?”
“Yes, ma’am. You might find a lot of other things, too.”
Janice took a deep breath, brushed some of her curly, smoky-blue hair back from her face, hair that seemed elegant rather than silly or shocking on her. “A part of the Underground Railroad leading straight to Jennings. I shouldn’t be surprised at all. And I’ve always wondered why we were so far east. So near the docks.”
“Wait,” said Jaime. “This is Jennings?”
“Where else?” Janice said, as if Jennings were the only good and right place the tunnel could have led them. Except Theo had no idea what Jennings was, even though the name sounded familiar.
“My grandmother has talked about this place,” said Jaime. “She said that she’s going to come straight here to have a dress made when I get married.” Jaime’s brown cheeks went the slightest bit rosy.
Janice laughed. “You getting married anytime soon?”
“I’m twelve, ma’am. I’ll be thirteen in September.”
“So that would be a no,” said Janice.
Jennings, Jennings, Theo thought, turning the name over in his head. “Jennings as in Thomas Jennings? The guy who invented dry cleaning?”
“Thomas L. Jennings, the tailor, businessman, and abolitionist who invented dry cleaning,” said Janice, her voice clipped.
“The first African American to receive a patent!” Theo said. “In 1821!”
The woman’s big brown eyes got bigger, then her expression softened. “Well!” she said, now considering Theo. “You know your history.”
Theo almost said, “Yes,” because he did know his history, or always thought he did. But then he remembered how many times he’d been surprised over the last few weeks. Instead he said, “I know some history. You still have dry-cleaning shops all around the city. My mom goes to one.”
“Then you know the TLJ headquarters is right next door, in the same building. Opened in 1837.”
Ticket #3152, TLJ, the 17th of June, Theo thought. Could it be?
Jaime said, “Anyway, I’m very sorry we burst in on you both.”
“No harm done, I suppose,” said Janice. The smaller woman in the white muumuu was sitting on the floor petting Nine. “Except for the cat hair you’re getting all over that dress, Bibi.”
“What?” said Bibi. “This is a good kitty.”
Janice rolled her eyes. “That,” she said, “is a sabertooth.”
“A good sabertooth, then,” said Bibi, shrugging. Nine licked her hand.
“She belongs in the Bronx Ecological Park with the rest of the chimera.”
“She’s not a chimera,” Tess said. “She’s a Cat.”
“Uh-huh,” said Janice, one thin eyebrow raised so high it almost disappeared into the cloud of blue hair. “She’d scare all the hamster-hogs and fer-rabbits and panda-quoks. Or eat them. They should make some a little bigger.”
“The big chimera are illegal,” said Theo.
“Like that’s stopped people before,” said Janice.
“The only thing Nine eats is her kibble,” Tess said. Then toed the expensive carpet. “You’re not really going to call our parents, are you?”
Janice put her hands on her hips again. “Are any of your parents professional historians who could date that tunnel? Or perhaps journalists who could write about it? Powerful lawyers or ex-presidents who will make sure this building isn’t ripped out right under us and sold to some rich man who doesn’t care about anyone’s history or future but his own?”
Tess was quiet for a moment. “No,” she said. “No one like that.”
“Then I’m not going to call them,” said Janice, flashing a hint of teeth—a smile or a grimace or both.
“If you do decide to call some lawyers and historians, maybe you could say you were the ones who found the tunnel?” said Jaime.
“What if you discovered something amazing?” said Bibi. “You don’t want credit?”
“I’d rather have my grandmother not find out that I was doing things she wouldn’t like than get any credit,” said Jaime. Tess and Theo nodded.
“I have a grandmother like that,” said Janice. “All right. No mention of you to anyone, right, Bibi?”
“I’m thirty-three years old, and my parents are still mad I didn’t take John Park to my senior prom,” said Bibi. “My lips are sealed.” She planted a kiss on top of Nine’s head. Nine received this kiss as if it was her due.
Janice peered once again down the stone steps. “Until I decide what to do, I’m going to close this door. A little help, please?”
Theo, Tess, Jaime, and both women heaved the jagged stone “door” closed. Once it was shut, the stones met so seamlessly you couldn’t tell there was ever an opening there at all. Which, thought Theo, was likely the point.
“Well, children, it has been interesting meeting you,” said Janice the Goddess, “but my afternoon is booked solid. I think it’s time for you and your sabertooth friend to get on home.”
“Thank you, ma’am,” said Jaime. “We appreciate that.”
“I’m sure you do,” said Janice. She pointed to one end of the grand room, where yet another door was marked Exit. “The storefront is that way. Walk straight through to get to the street. You can see yourselves out. But don’t touch anything!”
They all turned to go when Janice added, “And maybe don’t
hang around construction sites from now on. You don’t want to get in trouble, do you?”
“Too—” said Tess.
“—late,” said Theo.
Theo, Tess, Jaime, and Nine got to the front door of Jennings’s Fine Designs without destroying any of the handmade clothing, knocking over any of the racks, exploding anything, or getting cat hair on any of the patrons. (That is, the patrons who didn’t want to get cat hair on themselves; some of the people were terrified of Nine, some were helpless in the face of her and couldn’t keep their hands off her, that is, when she wished it. It was her superpower. Among many.)
Once they were out on the street, Theo pointed to the dry-cleaning shop next door. He whispered, “The paper we found said—
“—TLJ,” Tess finished for him.
Jaime pushed his glasses up the bridge of his nose. “Let’s go in.”
The place was warm and bright, packed with customers handing in tickets despite the late hour. Thomas L. Jennings memorabilia hung all over the brick walls and under the glass countertop at the front of the store. When Theo handed his ticket to the harried, red-faced clerk, the clerk glanced down at it, then looked up at Theo.
“Is this is a joke?”
“No joke,” said Theo.
“We’re closing in a few minutes and I got customers, kid,” said the clerk, handing back the slip. “Can I help who’s next?”
“But—” Tess said.
“NEXT!” shouted the clerk. A pale woman carrying three identical red business suits scowled at Tess before not-too-gently elbowing her aside. Nine growled, and the woman dropped her suits on the floor, startled. Nine sniffed at the suits, tossed her striped head, and dragged Tess and Theo over to Jaime, who had been waving at them from one end of the store.
“What?” said Theo.
“That,” said Jaime. He pointed to a black gown in a glass case displayed in front of the alterations desk. “Read the plaque at the bottom.”
TICKET # 3152, TLJ, THE 17TH OF JUNE.
A TICKET WRITTEN BY THOMAS L. JENNINGS HIMSELF SOMETIME IN THE 1840S. BELIEVED TO BE A GOWN WORN BY NONE OTHER THAN MISS THERESA MORNINGSTARR, THE ITEM WAS NONETHELESS NEVER PICKED UP. SOME SAY THAT IT WAS LEFT HERE BY MISTAKE AND FORGOTTEN; OTHERS INSIST THAT LEAVING THE DRESS WAS MEANT AS AN INSULT, THOUGH MR. JENNINGS WAS A GUEST AT SEVERAL DINNER PARTIES AND EVENTS THROWN BY THE MORNINGSTARRS BEFORE AND AFTER THE TICKET WAS WRITTEN. STILL OTHERS BELIEVE THE DRESS ISN’T CONNECTED TO MISS MORNINGSTARR AT ALL, AND INSTEAD BELONGED TO SOMEONE ELSE ENTIRELY. THE TRUTH, ALAS, IS LOST TO TIME.
NO MATTER THE PROVENANCE OF THE DRESS, NOTE THE QUALITY OF THE SILK, THE AUSTERE DESIGN, AND THE ONE EMBELLISHMENT: THE LACE AROUND THE COLLAR. MR. JENNINGS’S REVOLUTIONARY CLEANING PROCESS DID NOT DAMAGE EITHER THE SILK OR THE DELICATE LACE.
Theo peered at the lace around the collar of the dress. Instead of dots or flowers, the lace was decorated with tiny hearts. Jaime took out his phone, took a picture of the dress. Then he pulled out his sketchbook and drew a sketch, because he didn’t quite trust technology. In his sketch, where a woman’s face would be, Jaime drew a blank oval, which Theo thought was just a bit creepy.
Tess frowned at the creepy blank oval, then glanced around the busy shop. She kept her voice low when she said, “I think we have to figure out whose dress this is. She’s probably the key to the next clue.”
“It’s late and if we don’t get home soon our parents and your grandmother will start freaking out. Let’s go back to Aunt Esther’s,” said Theo. “We can look through some of Grandpa Ben’s notes. He researched a lot of the people who hung out with the Morningstarrs, or did business with them. Maybe we’ll find something.”
Jaime sighed, tucked his sketchbook back into his pocket, but didn’t say anything cheerful or sarcastic or cheerfully sarcastic.
“Are you okay?” Tess asked him.
Jaime tugged at a loose ’loc. “You guys ever wonder when this will end? Or how?”
“It will end when we find the treasure,” Tess said, enunciating each word, as if she were telling herself this as much as telling Jaime.
“Yes, but sometimes I wonder if my idea of treasure and the Morningstarrs’ idea of treasure are two different things,” Jaime said.
In the past few weeks, Theo had been thinking along the same lines, but Tess looked so crushed by Jaime’s lack of enthusiasm that Theo kept his own mouth shut. Whether Theo wanted to admit it or not, he needed Tess’s relentless energy, her strange certainty, to keep going. Otherwise, they had destroyed their own building for nothing. And that was nothing Theo could stand.
They left the dry-cleaning store on West 34th Street and had to walk nearly fifteen minutes to the nearest Underway. Taking the Underway was an entirely different experience than it used to be, ever since they’d found out that the Guildmen running the trains might not be human but Morningstarr Machines, ever since they had nearly died while riding a runaway Underway train, ever since they had found out that some of the Morningstarr Machines—maybe all of them—could have their own agendas.
The ride to Queens was long, but the three of them sat rigidly in their seats. Nine, however, was calm and quiet at their feet as the passengers loaded and unloaded at the various stops. The Guildman managing the train car was tall and thin, with spidery limbs and a pale face so expressionless that he could have been one of Jaime’s blank ovals. But he paid the three of them no mind, sweeping cold blue eyes over all the passengers, making sure no one was eating anything or littering anything or otherwise causing trouble. Instead of cleaning the floors the way it normally would, a silvery caterpillar curled up in one of the seats across from them, as if it were sleeping. Theo jerked his chin at it.
Jaime murmured. “Yeah, I noticed.”
“Think it will turn into something else?” Tess said. “A butterfly? A moth?”
Theo shrugged, a frown tugging his features down. He hated not knowing things. Lately, it had been happening all too often.
They hopped another train over to Astoria. During the ride, Theo tried hard not to look at the Guildman or the caterpillar or especially the other passengers, blissfully bouncing along as if nothing in the world had changed, though so much already had.
Finally, they arrived at their station. They walked the rest of the way to Aunt Esther’s modest house, now Theo’s and Tess’s as well. The twins’ aunt Esther was a small, sturdy woman of indiscriminate age who had worked every kind of job and traveled all around the globe amassing the unusual items that decorated her home. And her home was as unique as she was. Jaime perked up when they entered, delighted by all the masks and the weird puppets and the plants and the tiny mechanical spiders that kept those plants pruned and watered. As much as it had pained them to move from 354 W. 73rd Street to Queens, Theo had to admit Aunt Esther’s house was pretty cool. And so was Aunt Esther.
“Ah, you’re back,” Aunt Esther said, as they piled through the door. “Luckily, I have just plated some Fig Newtons.”
Nine meowed plaintively.
“Stop complaining,” said Aunt Esther. “You know I have treats for you, too, Nine Eighty-Seven.”
“About that . . . ,” said Tess.
“The treats? They are one hundred percent organic. I get them from a small shop in Kansas. I do miss Kansas. Did I tell you about the time I worked as a wheat thresher? One does enjoy a good threshing.”
“No, I was talking about Nine’s name,” said Tess.
“A perfectly suitable name,” said Aunt Esther briskly, setting the plate of cookies on the dining room table. She had to shoo several silver spiders away, and they giggled as they scooted from the tabletop and scattered on the floor. Nine pawed at them, and they giggled some more.
“Did you name Nine?” Jaime asked, already on his second cookie.
“Me? Oh no. She already had a name when I picked her up,” Aunt Esther said. She held up a pitcher. “Lemonade?”
“Yes, thank you,” said Jaime. “So who named her?”
“Why, I’m not sure,” said Aunt Esther. “Perhaps she named herself.”
Theo tried not to roll his eyes, failed.
“I see you and your cynical eyeballs, Theodore,” Aunt Esther said, plunking a glass of lemonade in front of him. “They’re going to get stuck that way.”
“No, they won’t,” said Theo.
“They could,” said Aunt Esther. “Stranger things have happened, as you well know.” She reached into her pocket, pulled out a small, fish-shaped treat. She tossed it to Nine, who caught it in her mouth. “Cats have a very strong sense of self. Have you ever noticed that when their people name them things the cats don’t approve of, they refuse to respond? What kind of creature with any dignity would answer to Floofykins or Boo Boo?”
Jaime took a long sip of lemonade, swallowed. “I don’t know, I’m kind of partial to Boo Boo.”
“Boo Boo?” said Theo.
“Perhaps you’re right. Something banal like Mittens or Patches would be much worse.” Aunt Esther shivered, as if the thought of banality were perfectly dreadful.
“If you didn’t name her, where did you get her?” Theo asked.
“I answered an ad in the paper. A nice young woman uptown. Very nice. She had kittens and puppies and some other animals that were more difficult to identify, including a few chimera. The number has been disconnected since, though. I called again because I wanted one of her puppies. Looked like wolves with absolutely enormous feet. No telling how big they’d get.” She smiled brightly, as if the thought of ginormous puppies were as delightful as the thought of banal cat names was awful.
“So the ad just said something about pets?” Theo asked.
“No, of course not,” said Aunt Esther.
“Of course not,” said Jaime, one side of his mouth quirking up.
“The ad said, ‘Esther, we have what you’ve been looking for,’ with a phone number. So I called.”
Tess dropped the cookie she’d been holding. “Wait, the ad had your name in it?”
“Why wouldn’t it? I’m quite well-known about the city.”
Theo and Jaime exchanged glances. Theo said, “But Aunt Esther, how—”
