by Becky Melby
Lips parting, face warming under the direct stare, Emily froze.
With a loud whoop, Blaze clapped her on the back. “Told you I needed something to make me laugh! Your face did it!” Her arm slipped across Emily’s shoulder, and she drew her close in a one-armed hug much like the one in the picture on the wall. “You’ve got nothing to worry about. Unless you’re the one.”
On Saturday morning, Lexi crouched in the corner of her bed and grimaced at her friend Naomi. The door handle rattled. “Lex! Open up.”
Naomi, sitting on the floor holding Pansy, held her index finger to her mouth.
“Alexis! What’s going on? You hid my phone, didn’t you?” Something banged against the door. “Mrs. Benner just called. She was planning on taking you to the recital last night. What’re you trying to pull?”
Her door was locked, but all he’d need to open it was a paper clip. Pansy yowled and hobbled off Naomi’s lap. How could the poor cat know that the man on the other side of the door wouldn’t lay a hand, or foot, on her in a million years?
Lexi leaned over the bed and picked up Pansy. The bed groaned and she flinched. She should answer Jake. But she didn’t have an answer. When she’d heard he was going out on a date with Emily, she’d had to act fast.
“You’re grounded.”
She heard footsteps. He’d given up easily. “He won’t follow through.” With his head full of Emily, he’d forget he’d grounded her.
The plan was Naomi’s idea. Before Mom got sick, Lexi had never lied about anything worse than saying she forgot an assignment so she’d have an excuse to call Naomi. But even in the Bible people lied to protect somebody. Rahab lied to protect the two spies. Sara lied to protect Abraham. Where would the world be now if those men had killed Abraham? Her Sunday school teacher said those were “special circumstances.”
So was this. Lying to protect your family was a good thing.
She remembered how she’d felt the first time she didn’t tell the truth. Mom was in the hospital again and Ben was in charge. He made Lexi fix supper. Adam read to her while she cooked and she forgot about the macaroni. It burned on the bottom and Ben got crazy mad, madder than they’d ever seen him. He hit Adam with the back of his hand and Adam banged his head on the corner of the cupboard. It bled all over.
That was the first time Ben said if they told anyone he’d call the social workers and they’d split them up and put them in different foster homes.
Jake had come over after supper to get Mom’s hairbrush. He saw a streak of blood Lexi had missed on the white cupboard. She’d grabbed a napkin behind her back and wound it around her finger. “Cut myself grating cheese,” she’d said. “It’s not deep, but it sure did bleed.” She felt like an actress. Jake believed her. That was as good as applause at the end of a school play.
Now she could lie good if she had to. Under special circumstances. But that didn’t make her a liar.
The back door slammed. Jake wouldn’t be coming back tonight. But Emily would. Lexi bent down and buried her face in Pansy’s fur. “We need another plan.” Even though she’d kept Jake and Emily apart last night, things hadn’t worked out all that great. Grandma Blaze had invited her here. To stay. She’d kicked her own son out of his room.
Life was turning upside down. And it was up to her to fix it.
Rolling a strand of black hair around her finger, Naomi said, “You have to make Emily hate being here and think your family is horrible.” She grinned and the lamplight reflected purple on her braces. “Let’s invite her to our sleepover tonight and we can make up stories about how mean your grandma is and how Jake gets drunk and gambles and stuff like that.”
Naomi was serious, but it struck Lexi as funny. She laughed, deep and creepy. “And we’ll all tell seeeecrets.”
The purple lamp made Naomi look ghoulish. Her nose and forehead wrinkled and she laughed freakier than Lexi. “No. Wait. We’d be way more believable if she overheard us talking when she thinks we don’t think she’s listening.”
Goose bumps rippled up Lexi’s arms. “Perfect. Grab that notebook on my desk and let’s write it out.” Lexi rubbed her hands together. A giggle bubbled up from somewhere near her toes. “Soooo perfect.”
October 21, 1852
It felt good to laugh. They’d done so little of it together. Liam held one end of an eight-inch iron hook, Hannah gripped the other. “Tell Miss Baker the truth.” He touched the tip of her nose, leaving a black mark. “Tell her I am promised to another.”
“She’ll ask who.”
“A man does not so readily give up his secrets to a casual acquaintance. Especially one who is so cheap as to only purchase a two-penny pot hook. Tell her you pleaded on your knees but I wouldn’t relinquish the name of my green-eyed, copper-haired, fair-skinned beloved.”
Hannah giggled but her smile slipped away too soon. “Will we ever dance, Liam?”
He let go of the hook and looped his thumbs in the tie of his apron to keep his arms from doing what they longed to do. “This may go on for years, but our part in it will not. We’ll know when God has released us, and it will likely be at the same time I become Jim’s partner and can afford to support you in the manner to which you are accustomed. The Lord has been gracious to fill our days with purpose and not just longing. When that day comes, I’ll stand atop the grist mill and tell the world that Hannah Shaw has agreed to be my wife.”
Eyes misting, she looked beyond him.
“What are you thinking?”
“That you are a stubborn man.” A lone tear dropped to the hem of her skirt.
“I would agree. About what in particular?”
“If Papa knew we wanted to marry, he would open his arms and his home. You earn enough money to contribute a share and then we would all be there”—her voice lowered, her gaze traveled to the street where Jim stood talking to a man seated in a buggy—“to do what needs to be done.”
Oh Lord, how much more can I stand? He could easily imagine the three of them living happily together, but for however long he felt called to be involved in a cause that could find him nose to nose with the barrel of a gun, no one could know of his feelings for Hannah. No one could tie the two of them, the three of them, together.
His right thumb dislodged from its moorings and skimmed her cheek. “If, when I have a job worthy of you, it would help your father to have us live with him, I would be more than willing. He is more of a father to me than I have ever hoped for. Until then—”
Jim ran into the shadows of the shop, eyes blazing, a paper gripped in his fist. He thrust it at Liam. “I’m told I have to post this.” He spat on the ground.
The paper rattled in Liam’s trembling hand.
$2,000 REWARD $2,000
Offered by Mr. Jackson Harper of St. Louis County, Missouri for the return, Alive and in Good Condition, of his negroes:
George, 31 years of age, six feet, one inch tall, 180 pounds in weight.
He has very dark skin, numerous whip scars on his back.
Wearing an iron collar when he escaped.
He possesses the skills of a carpenter and wood carver and may have secured employment in that trade.
$1,500 reward.
and Mariah, his daughter, 11 years of age, five feet tall, 100 pounds in weight.
She has light skin and a very prominent chin.
$500 reward.
These two ran off March 5, 1852, and have been reported heading for this vicinity. Anyone having any knowledge of the whereabouts of either or both of these negroes is requested to contact
the nearest sheriff or federal authorities. Reward will be paid upon confirmation of identity.
Warning
Willful withholding of information pertaining to the apprehension of these fugitives is a violation of federal statute and is punishable by fine and imprisonment.
Tears streamed down Hannah’s face. Throwing the hook against the wall, she ran out.
CHAPTER 23
Emily stood in front
of a glass case displaying high-button shoes. She looked at a wood-handled button hook and wondered again at the women who first lived in her house. What was a day like for Hannah Shaw, who stitched by candlelight and baked bread at sunrise? She imagined rising before dark, dressing in layers of heavy clothes. Did she wear high-button shoes all day or something more comfortable?
The wood floor creaked beneath Adam’s feet as he paced from one museum display to the next then finally stopped by Emily. “What’s that?” He pointed at a black metal hinged instrument with a handle like a pair of scissors.
“A curling iron. Our Hannah probably had one. They used to heat it on a stove or clip it onto the chimney of a kerosene lamp.”
“Huh. You guys got it easy now.”
Blaze’s friend, a tall, gray-haired man, approached. “Can I answer any questions?”
Emily held up a booklet she’d picked up at the door. Racine County, Wisconsin, Roots of Freedom Underground Railroad Heritage Trail. “We’re going to be doing the walking tour this afternoon. We’re also researching information on Thomas and Elizabeth Shaw. They built a house in Rochester in 1847, and their descendants lived there until the 1940s.”
“Shaw. Thomas Shaw.” The man tapped his chin. “I seem to remember something. Did he have any connection with the Burlington Academy?”
“I don’t know. We really don’t know much about the family.”
“Can you stop back here when you finish the tour? I’ll see what I can find. I know I’ve seen that name and it will bug me as much as you if I don’t figure out where.”
“Whoa!” Adam, running half a block in front of Emily and Blaze, used the pamphlet to point at a white house. “This is the Cooper House. So Cooper School was named after the guy who lived here, I bet. And it says Joshua Glover stayed here, too!” He rattled off the rest of the information and ran on to the next place.
Blaze laughed. “Can’t you see him as a tour guide someday?”
“I could see him leading those wilderness survival trips where they live off grub worms and cactus juice.”
“Could be.”
They caught up with Adam in front of Lincoln School, built in the late 1850s as Burlington’s first high school. In front of the building stood a monument honoring Dr. Edward G. Dyer. “I read about him,” Adam said. “He hid runaway slaves in his attic at least three times and they all came back years later to thank him.”
“I wonder how often that happened.” Tears stung Emily’s eyes as she pictured that kind of reunion. “Imagine being responsible for someone’s freedom.”
She knew what it felt like to take it away.
They stood in front of a two-story white house with a flat roof and white pillars. As Adam began his travelogue about the holes cut in the shed that once stood behind the Perkins house, Emily’s phone buzzed. She pulled it out and looked at it. Susan. She was about to turn the ringer off when she realized that right now, with an excuse not to talk long, was a good time to answer. “Hi there.” Keep it light. Sound happy.
“Hey! You busy?”
“Actually, I am. I’m taking a historical tour of the town just south of Rochester.”
“Sounds boring. I just wanted to make sure you’re doing okay. You haven’t answered my calls.”
“Yeah. Sorry. I’ve been crazy busy with the house.”
“Well, you’re going to get a break next weekend.”
Emily’s stomach knotted. “Yeah. I’m looking forward to it.” Liar. The thought of twenty-four hours with Dawn Anne and Sierra made her chest pound like a scene in The Tell-Tale Heart. “It’ll be good to catch up with them.”
“And me.”
The knot spasmed. “What?”
“I can’t let you three be together without me.”
“But I thought they were coming to Michigan.”
“They are. But Craig’s got business in Milwaukee next week, so I’ll fly over with him and drive back with Dawn Anne and Sierra. How perfect is that?”
“That’s…wonderful.”
A Susan pause followed—the time it took for her sister’s bottom lip to form the pout that turned her husband and parents to mush— and made Emily glad there was a massive lake between them. “It’s not, is it? It’s because of the baby, isn’t it? I knew it would be hard for you, but I thought you’d at least be able to be happy for us knowing what we’ve gone through and how much—”
“I am happy. It’s wonderful. You’re having a little boy. That’s… wonderful. I’ll see you Saturday then.” She didn’t bother with good-bye.
Blaze, who’d heard her half of the conversation, seemed to sense her need for silence and kept Adam engaged on the rest of the tour. Emily forced a smile as they walked back into the museum. The man held up a book. “I found something. Not much, but here in some of Dr. Dyer’s notes there’s an entry dated May 12, 1863, saying that Thomas Shaw brought his grandson Luke Keegan in with a serious case of poison ivy. He recommended an oatmeal plaster twice a day.” The man smiled. “Don’t suppose that tells you much.”
She read the date again—1863. Dorothy had said Thomas had remarried and they’d had sons together. They would still have been children in 1863. Luke Keegan could have been the son of a stepchild. Or he could have been Hannah’s. Emily cleared her throat, “We’ll have to do some research on the name Keegan, I guess. Thank you.” Eyes smarting again with tears she couldn’t hold back, she turned and walked out into the sunlight.
Hannah, did you marry the man of your dreams? Did you bear him a son?
Black sheets. Black walls. Black thoughts.
Emily knelt on a rug that matched the rest of the décor and stretched toward a medieval-looking light fixture. It was just after nine, but her hips were feeling every concrete foot of the Burlington walk. She was exhausted, but if she didn’t loosen up before getting into bed, she’d be calling for help to get out of it in the morning.
And just who would come to her rescue? She folded, head-down, lumbar muscles stretching as her imagination did the same.
Blaze’s plan to find a wife for her son battled with Emily’s plan to stay detached while she accomplished what she came here to do. Like a neutral referee, one thought stood between the two, arms akimbo, silver whistle blaring over the cacaphony. “Why,” the ref shouted, “can’t you have both?” If there was a woman in California willing to pay her eleven hundred dollars a week to watch her kids, there had to be similar opportunites in Milwaukee or Chicago.
She’d passed a test on her back porch with paper and scissors and two little boys—she could still love on kids without falling apart. She could move to a Chicago suburb or some ritzy area of Milwaukee, close enough to see Jake and the kids.
Reaching toward the black ceiling again, she took a deep breath of reality.
Money was only a part of the problem. She couldn’t move one step closer to Jake without telling him the truth. All of it. No more flirting, no more soul-baring talks about everything but what really mattered. No more almost kisses. She’d avoid him until after her weekend with Sierra and Dawn Anne. And then she’d tell him. And then she’d leave. Unless…
With a low groan she stood, snapped the light switch, and crawled into bed.
Jake’s bed.
And he was in hers.
She stared into the thick blackness and listened to the hum of cidadas through the screen of the small window. Last night a fan had kept the air moving in the concrete-walled room. Tonight the fan was gone and only the slightest whisper of muggy night air descended.
The battle continued in the dark. Lying on her back in Jake’s bed, in a town where she wasn’t supposed to know anyone, she felt like Gulliver in the hands of the Lilliputians. Each person she’d met threw a rope over an appendage. Adam, Lexi, Blaze, Tina, Michael, Russell, Dorothy. And the thickest rope, the one tossed over her neck, tightened in Jake’s hand.
Lord, what am I supposed to do? The prayer formed on a half-asleep sigh. She had no right to come before the throne of God wi
th a request for herself, but she was too tired to take it back.
“What was her name again?”
The loud voice came from above and to her left. Emily opened her eyes. Only a pinpoint of light from her laptop on the floor in the corner eased the pitch blackness. She bunched Jake’s pillow and turned onto her right side, rounding her stiff back as she curled into a fetal position. She must have been dreaming.
“Let’s bring our shoes inside. They’ll get all dewy.” The distinct sound of a tent zipper followed. “Her name is Heidi.”
That voice she recognized. Lexi. Outside her window.
“Why did they break up?”