Belle looked up from her bible to see Joseph’s toys on the ground where he'd been playing just a few moments before. “Joseph? Joseph, don’t you play these game with me, y’hear?” But no answer came back from anywhere on that second floor. Belle’s heart started to beat a little faster when she ran down the hall to the room they shared only to find it empty. “Joseph? If'n you’re playin' a trick, it ain't ... it’s not funny.” But the room was quiet, and Belle could sense that he wasn't there, or anywhere on that floor.
Belle crossed to their bedroom window and looked out over the backyard, peering at the fields beyond leading up to the foothills of the Mine Mountains. She breathed a sigh of relief not to see him running back toward those mines.
But she also wasn’t sure how long he’d been out of her sight. Whether it had been moments or more like fifteen minutes, she couldn't be sure. Please, Lord, don't let him have gone back there!
Belle's first thought was her most hopeful, that Joseph would be found at the heels of the chubby cook Betsy. Probably just wanted a snack, someone to talk to him. Betsy spends time with him, they bake cookies together. I shouldn’t spend so much time reading, spend more time with him.
Belle pedaled down the stairs and toward the kitchen, the smells of the cooking food became entrancing, the bubbling of the stew pot, the crackle of the fire under the stove. Has to be here, she told herself, I would be too! I wish I'd come down here sooner!
But when Belle walked into the kitchen, her hope sank yet again. Big Betsy turned with a pleasant smile. "Here's the young’n,” she said, "come to help out ol’ Betsy 'round the kitchen, here a tale ‘r two?”
Belle shook her head and looked around. "I was looking for Joseph,” she said with care and respect.
“Sorry, honey, I ain't seen him around all day. You check the stables? Probably out with the horses, you know he loves ‘em.” Belle nodded, ran through the kitchen and out the back door, able to hear Betsy mutter, “Sometimes I think that boy can talk to the animals, too.”
Belle ran out through the backyard and scanned the area, no sign of Joseph anywhere around. But the estate was huge, and with the smithy house, the orchards, and the stable, there was a lot of ground to cover.
The sun hit her eyes, making it hard to focus, and Belle knew she'd have to make a choice. It was a quick run to the stables, so Belle tried there first. There was no sign of him with any of the horses, and she called to him several times to come out of hiding, threatening the most severe punishments she could imagine. When threatening to tell Jack Kincaid about Joseph’s misbehavior failed to draw him out of hiding, Belle knew he wasn't there and pushed on to the last reasonable place to look before the only one left, unreasonable and nowhere Belle wanted to look.
Belle checked the smithy workshop and house. The place was quiet and empty, and memories came rushing back to Belle of the year before, when they arrived. The smithy house had been the place of their first real shelter, the end of one chapter of their lives and a beginning of a new and exciting adventure.
Belle could envision her parents sitting with her and her brother, singing the song about the drinking gourd, talking about Canada, talking about the diamond mine. And that thought brought Belle back to the hideous truth that, if Joseph wasn’t in the smithy house or workshop, nor the stables nor the kitchen nor the house, there was only one place he was likely to have gone.
Belle was loath to go there herself, and her first thought was to find Don Bellamy or one of the guards and have them ride her out to the mines to retrieve the boy. But she knew the price one of the guards might have to pay, and Belle could not and would not endanger another life for her own, or even her brother’s. They’d cost enough lives in their brief few years.
Belle knew this was something she had to handle herself, and as quickly as possible. So with her head low, careful to avoid being seen by any of the estate guards, Belle ran across the backyard and into the fields separating the estate from the southernmost ridge of the mining mountains, where her father had lost his life, and where her brother had undoubtedly gone to save the lives of everyone else, even at the expense of his own.
CHAPTER THIRTY-SIX
Hannah clutched Jack’s hand as Henry Chisholm looked out over the crowd of his fellow citizens of Marion County, Indiana.
“And if I can prove beyond a shadow of a doubt that the Kincaid couple has been harboring these two fugitive slaves, then enough evidence for a full and true trial in a court of will surely be the mandate of the people and of the constitutions both of the great state of Indiana and of these United States of America!”
The crowd rustled, the judge pounded his gavel. “Can you prove such a thing, Mr. Chisholm?” he asked, seeming to already know the answer.
“Indeed I can, your honor, since you've asked.” Everybody watched with breath held tight in their lungs as Chisholm pointed to the door and called out, “Bring 'em in!”
The doors opened and everyone gasped to see Sheriff Slaughter lead two diminutive figures into the courtroom. They walked with shuffling gates, veils over their faces, bodies seemingly encased in material.
Chisholm turned to the judge. “Your honor, I present Missy and Chrissy Robinson, two of the few survivors of the infamous Robinson massacre down in Kentucky! It was from this blight upon the fabric of our civilization that the two slave fugitives in question, sprang. These two sisters were the masters of one of those slave children, and they both can surely identify one or both fugitives as being from their plantation.”
Hannah and Jack shared a nervous glance, each knowing what this turn of events could mean for them and the children in their care, not to mention the lives of the laborers and staff, all of whom would likely be charged as conspirators or at least accessories. To make an example to the rest of the nation, everyone on Hannah’s estate would likely swing from the end of an executioner’s rope.
But Hannah wasn't about to go down without a fight, and she was ready to bring down all the strength and might of the She Bear herself.
“How do we know who these two are?” Hannah asked.
“See for yourselves!” Taking Chisholm's cue, the two pulled back their veils and hoods to reveal their faces; once pretty and pink-cheeked, their faces were scarred with welts and wrinkled with extreme heat. Chrissy’s face was the more scarred of the two, half of her skull burned and unable to grown hair to match the other side of her head. “Still identifiable to their friends, but these two youths are forever scarred by the events of that day. True, their lives will never be the same, and the twinkle in their eyes may be gone. But their eyesight remains, their minds are strong even if their bodies have been made weak by injury and infection. They’ll know the face of the young girl who abandoned them to die it the fire caused by her own people!”
“We don’t know that,” Hannah said, “nobody knows for sure what started that uprising. It could have been a drunken brawl between two of the whites on the plantation for all we know.”
The crowd threw up another astonished gasp which settled in a crackling foam of muttered conversation.
“Does it matter how the uprising started, Mrs. Kincaid?”
Here, Chisholm had her beat. “No, I … I don’t suppose it does. But surely two children wouldn’t have been guilty of anything other than running.”
“But that still makes you guilty of abetting their flight—”
“Only if it’s the same two children,” Hannah pointed out, knowing where Chisholm would take the exchange next.
“Then bring them here and we’ll see for ourselves!”
The crowd nodded, huffing and clucking their mean-spirited support of Chisholm’s notion. Hannah looked them over, easy to imagine them standing at her gallows. She could almost feel the rope tightening around her neck.
Hannah thought fast. “It’s terrible, what's happened to these young women, girls really. To be scarred like that, in their hearts and minds as well as their faces, just horrible.” Hannah stepped toward them. I
personally, though I have never met either of these poor, wretched creatures, would personally do anything I could to help them. Surely, the world will not do for them now what it would have done when they were both pretty and clean of injury or unseemly scars.”
Hannah turned from them, knowing they were listening to her as much, if not more clearly, as anyone.
“Surely they’ve lost their family fortune, even their father if they’re here alone.”
“They did indeed,” Chisholm said. Sheriff Slaughter looked on with increasing interest, knowing full and well the ways of cleverness and chicanery, well aware of their corruptive power.
Hannah went on. “Then how do they survive? What manner of support do they have?”
“Why none,” Chisholm said. "The return of their slaves, their rightful property by law, will give them some means, some ability to sustain themselves, at least for a time. After that, who knows?”
“I had no idea,” Hannah said, “in fact I want to thank you, Mr. Chisholm, for bringing them to my attention.” Hannah stepped up to Chrissy and Missy. “Why, I’d be willing to put a large sum of money in an account for them this very day, if it would provide some kind of comfortable means for them. Perhaps … ten-thousand dollars?”
The crowd went wild, tossing around speculation, reporters feverishly making notes.
“This would be meant to recompense them for whatever their losses, if it would put them back on a course headed South and end this matter right here, right now.”
More wild speculation filled the courtroom, the two Robinson daughters glancing at each other, then turning to Hannah and nodding, each extending an opened hand.
“Wait a minute,” Chisholm said, “this is bribery! She’s buying my witnesses’ silence!”
“I can only imagine what one must think,” the judge said, “to see corruption going on in the higher levels of government.” The judge pounded his gavel. “This hearing is adjourned.”
“Adjourned?” Chisholm was near to turning purple with rage. “You can't just adjourn! I’ve gone to great lengths! These are the last two verified witnesses I could find! The time, the money—”
“Are your own concern, Mr. Chisholm. Now if you’ll kindly vacate my courtroom—”
In the corner of Hannah’s eye, Sheriff Slaughter was already walking out of the courtroom, turning his back on Chisholm and signaling that the tide had turned in Hannah’s favor and that Chisholm would have to take his own measures.
“I’m not finished,” Chisholm cried out, “there’s more!”
CHAPTER THIRTY-SEVEN
Belle arrived at the one of the two shafts on that side of the mountain which were still open. The other was blocked off, and beyond it lay her father’s body, buried in all that rock and darkness, frozen forever with that cursed diamond still in his fist.
This was what happened to people who fall in love with money, and to those who knew them, just trying to get along. But Hannah wasn’t like that, caring more for people than property, more for right than for might. And it was her inspiration that pushed Belle forward, that and the urgent need to save her brother's life. She knew if he went in alone and she didn't find him, he'd never make it out again. She thought about his lost compass and her lost bible, the two lights to guide their way through the maze of treachery they were about to enter, each alone.
Belle leaned toward the entrance to the opened shaft, her own voice echoing again and again, softer each time. She waited and then called again, but she still got no answer. Belle took a step toward the opening, her own voice telling her that he’d come running out any second, diamonds in his fists, both safe and all well.
But it never happened. Belle looked around, seeing nothing but the fading sunlight, and knew she had no choice and no more time to even consider it.
Belle walked into that shaft, for what she was certain would be the last time, half-certain that she would never make it out.
Belle called her brother's name again, this time quieter. She knew the mines were fragile, and she recalled that even her screaming the last time may have brought the tremor that took their papa’s life. Belle couldn’t deny that the spirits of the miners had some haunted hand in things, but there were always the natural facts, and one was that too much noise could do a lot of damage, as Hannah was discovering for herself back at the Marion County Courthouse.
Belle felt cold and alone in that shaft, and had to wonder just a few steps in how Joseph had gotten so deep into to the cavern that he couldn't hear or see her. She knew he’d be lost in that darkness with one wrong turn, she would be too, both of them screaming out their terror as the mountain simply enjoyed their misery and captivity.
“Joseph? Joseph!” It was louder the second time, little bits of rock falling from the ceiling of the shaft. Belle's heart was beating faster, the hairs standing up on the back of her neck.
Probably that sixth sense of his, that quiet way he has of seeing more than others, knowing more than most can understand. Well, that's fine for him, but I can only see what regular girls can see, and in the dark of a place like this, that adds up to nothing!
Belle turned to see the light of the entrance still behind her, little-by-little her eyes getting used to the dark, able to see just a bit more clearly. She tried to imagine the spirit of her father, which she knew was so close, coming to her to guide her, to protect her and help her finish the job they both started, and to bring her and Joseph both out of that place safe and sound.
“Jo-seph?”
Only the fading echo answered her, and Belle knew she had to press on.
What if he's not here? Belle had to wonder.
There was little enough to comfort her and everything in the world to frighten her, from the horrors of hell to the looming chance of her own death.
The Lord is my shepherd, Belle silently recited from memory, I shall not want. He maketh me to lie down in green pastures.
Other familiar words leaked into her memory, especially appropriate as she stepped slowly into that darkness, leaving the light behind.
Follow the drinking gourd, she sang in the silence of the back of her brain, using the new diction she’d learned from her lessons with Hannah. Follow the drinking gourd. For the old man is a–waiting for to carry you to freedom, if you follow the drinking gourd.
Belle thought of her mother, how disappointed she’d be to know Belle had lost Joseph, how saddened that the Robinson family came so close to freedom, so close to the true end of their journey, only to be waylaid and finally brought down one-by-one.
When the sun comes back and the first quail calls, follow the drinking gourd. Belle thought of her father, hoping he would find peace someday, that they all would, all who suffered eternally in the mountain. For the old man is a–waiting to carry you to freedom if you follow the drinking gourd.
“Joseph? Joseph!” But Belle got the only response she expected.
Why won’t he talk? I know he can, I just know it! And I never blamed him for not talking, all these years. It only made sense, a boy as sensitive as he is, living the kind of life he was born into, seeing the kinds of things he had to see and at such a tender age. But things have changed now, he must know that! There are other things to be afraid of now, not Master Robinson or slave driver Taggart. And the dangers we're facing now need for Joseph to answer, to rise up out of the darkest and let that voice ring out!
“Jo-seph!” The name lingered, repeating in distant echoes, but no answer came back. One look back told Belle that she’d gone farther from the entrance, the shaft turning slightly, her only connection with life outside of the mountain well beyond her reach and nearly out of her sight.
CHAPTER THIRTY-EIGHT
The courtroom was nearing pandemonium, Hannah and Jack glancing at one another. Jack gave her the little wink and smile she knew meant that he was once again astounded by her, amazed by her, impressed with her, falling in love with her all over again, and in the very shadow of the gallows.
Ch
isholm shouted at the judge, the room, anyone who would listen, “I have it on good authority that she has conspired with members of the Chippewa tribe, and others, the Seminole, to murder white men who were simply doing their jobs and following the law. That makes Hannah Alexander Kincaid a mass murderer … of white people!”
“You’ve no proof of any of that,” Jack shouted above the din, “or produce it now!”
“I … I need a little more time! I’ve heard tales that she hold them in her spell, that she’s a witch!”
“I’ve had enough of this!” Hannah turned to face the crowd, and again to face the judge, and the whole room fell silent before her. “Witches, conspiracies? This isn’t law, this is a circus! This is no pursuit of justice, but of a generations-old blood feud, as my husband said.” Jack nodded in appreciation for her recognition of him before she went on. “This is a mean-spirited bully using his wealth and power to destroy innocent people, and turning the hard-forged laws of our state and our nation to do it! Mr. Chisholm mentions the laws, yet he defiles them at every turn, in the letter and in the spirit!”
The crowd sat hushed, reporters scribbling, men nodding to consider.
Hannah continued. “But this is the United States of America, and we follow the rule of law here. We are a democracy through and through. That means the laws rule, not men, not their personal desires or motivations. The Constitution leads us, not the men who abuse and hide behind it. Good men and women died for that Constitution, for this country, and I'm here to see that they did not die in vain!”
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