“Well, here goes.” She pushed the door open.
A cloud of dust greeted them, and they pulled their shirts over their faces. Ramsey swiped open the flashlight app on his phone and beamed it around what appeared to be a long closet, or perhaps a small room. Shelves piled with assorted objects covered one wall, and a row of framed photographs lined the other.
Darcy rubbed a layer of dust from the glass on a picture.
An African-American woman stared back at her with defiant eyes from the black and white photograph, which looked like it had been taken some time in the nineteenth century. Chains were clamped around the woman’s wrists, and she wore ragged, old fashioned clothes. The caption read “Felicity Chambers, arrested for stealing food.”
The next photo was of a young boy who looked to be from the same era. He was also bound, this time with thick ropes. Even with the old photograph Darcy could see welts beneath the cords. The boy’s eyes were glassy, his jaw slack, as though his soul had been defeated beyond return. Tears trickled down Darcy’s cheeks as she read the caption. “Obadiah Grant. Fought with a white boy.”
Metal clinked as Ramsey inspected an old, thick chain. “Wow,” he breathed. “Darcy, these are shackles. Look at these.” He held up a hammered-out circlet. “The edges are so sharp.”
“How terrible.” Darcy touched the edge of the shackle. “You hear stories, but—we could never imagine how horrible it really was. We take our freedom for granted.”
Ramsey pulled a large accordion-style camera from a brittle leather case. “How old do you think this is?”
Darcy turned over the camera and examined the back panel. “I’ve never seen one from this era but Gran taught me quite a bit about the history of photography. Looks like a dry-plate style, so mid-1870’s. I’m guessing it was used to take some of these photos, if not all.”
“There’s an album up here.” Ramsey took a leather-bound book from the shelf and blew off the dust. He opened the cover. “This inscription is all loopy, but I think it says, ‘So we will always remember.’ It’s signed Frederick James, 1884.”
“I can’t remember how far back that was, but he was a great something grandfather on my Gran’s side.” Darcy murmured. “She used to talk about her Yankee ancestor who was a photographer. It’s why she always loved photography. It might even be the reason my mother chose it for her profession.”
Ramsey flipped a page and grimaced. “Oh, you may not want to see these.”
Darcy looked over his shoulder. Each page had a single photograph. Most were of corpses, all African-American people, laid out on tables or in plain wooden coffins.
A gasp escaped from her lips. “How terrible. Why would someone take pictures like this?”
“There are dozens of them.” Ramsey flipped through the aged book carefully. “Some are stuck together in places. You’re going to need proper equipment to look at these without damaging them.” As he turned the pages, an envelope fell out and floated to the floor. He picked it up and held it under the light. “This has your name on it.”
Darcy’s hands trembled as she opened the pale blue envelope she recognized as Gran’s favorite stationary. She read the letter out loud.
“Dear Darcy,
If you are reading this, it means that for some reason, I couldn’t show you this room myself. I’ve meant to, many times, but these pictures are so terrible. It’s such an ugly time in our state’s history. But I can’t shelter you from everything, can I?
Our ancestor, Fredrick James, came from Philadelphia in the 1870s to take pictures of Comanche Indians and members of other Native American groups. These photographs would be sent up north to be made into postcards of ‘The Wild West.’ He did good business and became quite wealthy.
Fredrick traveled to different reservations in several states to find unusual subjects. While he traveled, he began to take more of an interest in people’s situations and how they were treated. After a stay at Fort Sill, Oklahoma, he came down to Texas.
He was shocked to find how different African Americans were treated in this state. Though slavery had been outlawed for decades, many of the folks here were kept as indentured servants and unable to leave their places of ‘employment.’ Any accusation could lead to imprisonment or lynching, without a fair trial.
Fredrick felt helpless. But he had one weapon, and that was his camera. He posed as a newspaper reporter so he could take pictures of prisoners. With camera in hand, he listened to stories from folks who had been pushed too hard and treated unfairly. He even took photographs of deceased prisoners who had been executed without a trial.
Armed with these pictures, Fredrick began to write rich friends from up north. He received money and promises to help. He bought this house, complete with a secret passage, using it to hide and smuggle people who were unjustly accused or wanted to escape to a better way of life.
Sadly, Fredrick James was lynched in the 1890’s. He left behind a wife and a child. This room contains the artifacts I have collected from this incredible man’s life. I realize they belong in a museum, and have often gathered it all up for donation, but, at the same time, I almost feel they should stay here, in the original home. I know you can sort it out. I place the decision in your very capable hands.
God Bless you, my dear,
Gran
Ramsey whistled softly. “What a find. I’m sure the Wimber museum would be extremely interested to create an exhibit for these items.” He wiped dust from the album’s cover. “I guess I always thought things got better after slavery was abolished. But this man was working to help people long after the Civil War.”
Darcy sank back against the wall. “No wonder Gran didn’t want to show these things to me when I was a teenager. I’m probably going to have nightmares even now.”
“It’s different when it’s a movie, with make-up and costumes.” Ramsey ran his hand over the photograph album. “But these were real people. They really went through this.”
“Now that I found it, what should I do?” Darcy said.
The back wall of the closet was only a few feet away. Ramsey shuffled over and examined the wall with his light. “Darcy, look here. I think this panel opens.”
“Ooh, let me see.” She brought her phone light to add to his and the twin beams played along the wall.
“See that tiny crack?” Ramsey pointed to an area near the ceiling. He ran his fingers along the edge, around the corner, and down the side.
Darcy joined him, and soon felt the wood give under her touch. The panel gave a slight click and slid open to reveal a tiny, cupboard-like space, about three feet by two feet. There was no floor, just a hollow opening.
Ramsey swept out his arm. “Your secret passage.”
Darcy peered into the space. The air was hot and dry, and cobwebs floated in the light. “Another question answered. Do you think we can explore it?”
“Maybe. Maybe not.” Ramsey pointed the light down the shaft. “There’s a ladder here, but I don’t want to risk putting my weight on it without knowing how stable it is.”
“That’s all right. We’ll get an extension ladder so we can climb down and examine the room when I call the building inspector.” Despite the heartbreaking photographs they had seen, Darcy felt as though a giant weight had been lifted from her shoulders. “Oh, Ramsey, do you know what this means? I won’t have to get the wall torn down now!”
“Yes, this is going to change a lot of things.” Ramsey scratched his chin. “Including Vera Greer’s plans to ruin the shop. If I’m not mistaken, Texas has some pretty strong laws protecting historical landmarks. Vera’s not going to be able to touch this place. Unless you decide to take her offer.”
“We both know that will never happen. Oh, Ramsey, I’m so glad you were here to share this with me.” Darcy put her arms around his waist.
“Me too.” He nestled his chin in her hair. “This was meant to be. You know that, right?”
“I hope so,” she murmured.
“Meow?�
�� came a questioning voice from the doorway.
Darcy craned her neck to see over Ramsey’s shoulder. “Linus? Did you think we forgot about you?”
Linus stepped into the room, shaking each paw as it landed. He sniffed the air and meowed again.
“Cat has the right idea,” said Ramsey. “I’m starving.”
“All right, we’ll all get some supper.” Darcy picked up the cat. Taking one last look around the closet, she sighed. “Would you have ever guessed?”
“Not in a million years,” said Ramsey.
19 THE STUCK PIG
A gatha clutched the photograph album to her chest and rocked back and forth on her emerald green couch, as though the gesture could bring comfort to the people in the pictures. A tear trickled down her wrinkled cheek and she closed her eyes. “Sweet Jesus, have mercy on their souls.”
Darcy pulled a tissue from a box on the shelf and handed it to the elderly woman.
“Thank you.” Agatha wiped her eyes. She handed the album back to Darcy. “I appreciate you coming by to share this with me.”
“Well, you’ve lived in Wimber for so long, I figured you might be interested in what we found.” Darcy tucked the album back into her messenger bag and zipped the flap. “I wanted to show you first. Since you couldn’t make it to church today, I thought I’d bring it out to you.”
“Well, it’s not every morning a body gets to help bring twins into the world.” Agatha gestured out the square, wooden window, where two kids butted against their mother, searching for lunch. “Boy, those two were tangled! Usually the goats know what’s what, but not always. I’m glad I hadn’t already left for town. I might have lost all three of ‘em.”
“The babies sure are cute.” Darcy pulled back the muslin curtain for a better view. “It’s amazing how they both fit in there.”
“I birthed my own two children, three years apart, and I’m still mystified.” Agnes shook her head. “But anyways, I’m glad you came by. You’re always welcome in my home.” She grasped Darcy’s hand. “My granddaddy told me stories about life after the war and the hardships many folks endured. Even when I was a child, Texas didn’t hold much love for Black folks. Segregation was still rampant, well into the seventies. In most cities, ‘specially the smaller towns, we still had separate schools. Restaurants wouldn’t let us in, or they had a section in the back for colored folks. There’ve been changes, but they’ve been slow to come.” Her brow furrowed up to her white curls. “You young people have no idea.”
“It’s true.” Darcy lowered her eyes. “That’s one of the reasons I thought you might want to help me. I want to dedicate a corner of my shop to Fredrick James and this part of Texas history that many people have forgotten.”
“Of course I will.” Agatha placed the photograph album on the olive-green couch cushion beside her and rested her chin in her hands.
“I was going to donate the photographs and camera to the museum,” Darcy continued, “But I feel like Gran was right. They should stay in the building. I’ve called my family, and they’ve agreed to allow me to sell a collection that belonged to my grandfather. I’ll use the money to have a nice display area built for the photographs and other memorabilia. Ms. Travelsham is going to help me look through the town history archives to find out more information.”
“I thought the house had been moved in from another city,” said Agatha.
“We thought the house was built in Austin. Turns out it was constructed by the Austin building company right here in Wimber. The original owner bought it from them and moved it over here to start a business. Eventually, his daughter married Fredrick James. He bought the shop, and she took over running the store while he continued to work with photography.”
Agatha tilted her head. “I guess shop keeping runs in your family.”
“And a passion for photography,” said Darcy. “Gran was loved the art, as you know. My mother is a photographer. She left Wimber at eighteen to attend an art college in LA.”
“She must have been pretty excited when you told her about your discovery, said Agatha.
“Yes, she’s decided to fly down in a few weeks to help prepare the exhibit,” said Darcy.
A loud knock sounded at the door.
Darcy gestured to the door. “You want me to get that, Agatha?”
“Honey, I may be old, but I’m not dead yet.” Agatha pulled herself out of the couch and ambled across the hardwood floor, her colorful, tribal-patterned dress swishing around her knees.
Miss Lorinda stood at the door, her normally sculpted hair disheveled and her jeans wet and muddy.
“Goodness, what happened to you?” Agatha pulled her inside.
“Gertrude’s in a bit of a pickle. I don’t know what she was thinking, but she loves melons and she must have smelled the cantaloupes ripening in my garden. She’s stuck in the fence, the silly thing. I tried to get her out, but I hurt myself.” Miss Lorinda held up her dirt-covered arm. A thin line of blood trickled down into her flannel shirt sleeve. “So, I came for reinforcements.”
Agatha examined the wound. “Let me clean this up first. A little lavender salve will be just the thing.”
Miss Lorinda snorted. “I’ve had worse paper cuts.”
“Nevertheless.” Agatha drew herself to her full height, which landed her right below Miss Lorinda’s chin.
“Very well.” Miss Lorinda went into the kitchen. “I’m washing it with soap first,” she yelled through the door.
“I’ll call Ramsey,” said Darcy, pulling her phone out of her purse. “He stays after church to help clean up but he’s probably finished by now. I’m supposed to meet him in a few minutes for lunch anyway.”
Pursing her lips, Agatha nodded. “I reckon your young man doesn’t know a thing about pigs, but a pair of extra hands won’t hurt.”
Darcy tapped her chin. “His mom’s kept cows and horses—not sure if she ever had pigs.”
A few moments later, the three women hurried up the lane to Miss Lorinda’s house, a tiny white structure surrounded by peach trees. Miss Lorinda didn’t have to point in the direction of the garden; they could hear the giant pig’s squeals from the road.
Ramsey pulled up in the driveway just as they reached the house. “Gosh, Miss Lorinda. It’s a wonder no one called the sheriff the way that pig’s carrying on.”
“Eh,” Miss Lorinda waved her hand. “She squeals louder on ice cream day when she gets her pint of Blue Bell.”
The gravel driveway wound around what might once have been flower beds, but was now filled with ruts and holes. Agatha made a tsking sound. “Miss Lorinda, why don’t you just keep that pig in a pen where she belongs?”
Miss Lorinda put her hands on her hips. “Why do you knit your goats sweaters?”
Agatha snorted but didn’t reply.
They rounded the corner of the house to the sturdy wood fence. Glimpses of the garden could be seen through the gaps.
Gertrude’s massive rear end stuck out of a hole she had dug under the fence, along with two ridiculously small cloven hooves. Clumps of dirt and mud covered the area.
“Gertrude, you silly pig. Momma’s here and I brought help. We’re going to get you out.” Miss Lorinda’s voice went from angry to mushy all in one sentence. Darcy and Ramsey exchanged amused glances.
“See, here’s where I was trying to push her through,” Miss Lorinda pointed to a furrow in the dirt. “But she kicked me in her fright and hurt my arm. My plan wasn’t working anyway.”
“Why didn’t you go to the front and try to push her back?” Darcy stood on her tiptoes and peered over the fence.
Ramsey, Agatha and Miss Lorinda stared at her.
“Have you ever seen a sow’s teeth, dear?” asked Miss Lorinda. “I mean, Gertrude’s a sweetheart, but she’s frightened.”
Agatha scratched her cheek. “Do you have a crowbar?”
“In the shed over there.” Miss Lorinda pointed to a small white building that stood a few yards away from the fence.
Ramsey disappeared for a moment inside the shed and returned with the tool. “Think this’ll do the trick?”
Agatha examined the crowbar. “Yes, this should work. We’ll have to pry off the fence panel, but we can help Miss Lorinda fix it afterwards. Now Ramsey, you pull on the cross board, there, and Darcy, you can steady it on that side. Miss Lorinda, you stand on the other end so it won’t fall on poor Gertrude.”
Everyone took their positions.
Ramsey put the crowbar’s teeth under one of the two supporting boards of the panel that held the pig hostage. He pulled until the veins in his neck stood out.
Finally, with a groan, the board came away from the structure. The pig’s giant sides heaved.
“Hang on there, Gertrude, let me get this other part off.” Ramsey moved to the other board and removed it as well. “All right ladies, let’s get this pig out of here. Everyone watch for those teeth.”
“And the hooves. Might look little, but they’re sharp,” said Agatha.
Darcy and Miss Lorinda braced themselves as the fence sagged towards them. Ramsey dropped the crowbar and helped catch the panel.
Gertrude sniffed the air as though she wondered how they’d magicked the fence away. Her eyes widened and she got to her feet, grunted and wandered off towards the melon patch.
“Oh, no you don’t, Missy.” Miss Lorinda pulled a candy bar from her pocket. “She loves chocolate and I almost never let her have it.”
“Yeah, I bet you never, ever do,” Agatha muttered.
Miss Lorinda’s voice rose an octave. “Come on, Gertrude, my sweetheart. Come to momma!” She crinkled the candy bar wrapper
The giant sow’s head whipped around and her body followed. Moving at a seemingly impossible speed, she bounded towards Miss Lorinda.
Miss Lorinda ran up the porch steps and sat on the swing, holding the candy out.
Gertrude tromped up the stairs and grabbed the chocolate bar, which disappeared down her toothy mouth in one gulp.
Tangled in Time, (Miss Main Street Book 1) Page 14