Joey and the Magic Map

by Tory Anderson

  Joey finished his ice cream as he watched them try again and again. He would have given up a long time ago; the twins didn’t know when to quit. It was clear one or both of them were going to smash some fingers. He would really get it from his mother then. Joey got up and went over to help them open the door. Once they saw how dark it was down there Joey knew they would lose interest.

  The door fell open with a bang. Joey noticed Glory’s nose twitch at the musty smell..

  “Wow,” said Glory. “Creepy.”

  “What do you think is down there?” asked Story.

  “Dead bodies,” said Glory matter-of-factly.

  “Probably more bats,” said Story.

  “Maybe there are hidden tunnels to hidden doors in the house,” Joey said. That was a mistake.

  “Cool,” said Glory. “Let’s go see!”

  “What are you, nuts?” said Joey, eyeing the darkness with trepidation.

  “Oh, she’s nuts all right,” said Story, nodding.

  “Maybe I am,” she said. “But at least I’m not afraid. Come on, Story.” She grabbed his hand and took a step.

  “Okay,” Story said. In spite of his verbal willingness he jerked his hand from hers and stayed where he was.

  “You are not going down there,” Joey said.

  “You going to come down and stop me?” she said, going down four more steps getting closer to the blackness.

  Joey knew that if he bolted after her now she would run into the darkness even if she didn’t really want to. He most definitely did not want to go down there after her. He stayed where he was hoping she was bluffing.

  “Mom wouldn’t want you to go down there,” he said. He was embarrassed that he had to lean on his mother’s authority because he was too afraid.

  Behind them a voice said “You’d better listen to your big brother. There’s some mighty strange goings-on in that there cellar.” It was Beezer. He was standing right behind Joey and Story. They hadn’t heard him approach. All three kids jumped and yelped.

  “Come up out of there,” he said. The urgency in his voice had Glory running up the steps as fast as she could. She squeezed between her two brothers as if she were cold. Beezer stared down into the cellar as if he could see something they couldn’t. Quite suddenly he turned to the kids and spoke.

  “Over a hundred fifty years ago Henrietta Calhoun—she was niece to Colonel Horsebaum—used to hide runaway slaves in that cellar.”

  “Slaves!” Glory said. All three kids looked back down into the darkness.

  “But wasn’t Henrietta Southern?” asked Joey. “Weren’t they the ones who kept slaves? I mean, why would she hide them?”

  “Oh she was Southern, all right. But some Southerners didn’t believe in slavery—Henrietta was one of them. She was part of the Underground.”

  “Underground,” said Story. “That’s why they hid them in the cellar.” It made sense to him.

  “Well, kind of,” said Beezer. “The Underground was a network of courageous people who helped slaves escape to freedom in the North.” Beezer’s glasses glinted in the sun as he spoke making the kids squint. “Henrietta helped many slaves escape by hiding them under her uncle’s mansion. She was a bold one she was. She was helping a new group when Colonel Horsebaum discovered her nefarious designs.

  “One dark night, right here in the back yard, he overheard her speaking to a brave fellow called Applegate. He was a member of the Underground, too. Applegate was going to take the slaves from the cellar and lead them to the next station on their way North.”

  “What happened?” asked Glory. She pulled a Barbie Doll out of her pocket and held it tightly to her chest.

  “He hurt her, didn’t he,” said Story taking Joey’s hand and putting it over his eyes.

  “Is she buried down there?” Joey’s words came out in alarm.

  Beezer looked apprehensive. “Maybe I shouldn’t go on,” he said.

  “No, you have to,” said Glory using her bossy voice.

  “Do you all really want me to,” Beezer asked.

  “Yes, please,” said Joey, half hypnotized by the light glinting off Beezer’s glasses. He needed to hear more about this Henrietta.

  “Okay. But only because you are making me,” said Beezer. He leaned toward them and lowered his voice. “Colonel Horsebaum wasn’t just mad when he found out. He was furious!”

  The word rang out in the still afternoon air like the unexpected gong of a great clock. The kids stiffened as they awaited Beezer’s next words. Beezer took his time. He looked each child in the eyes before going on.

  “He confronted the two collaborators and demanded Applegate give himself up.”

  “Calibrators?” asked Story.

  “Collaborators—the two who were working together,” said Beezer.

  “Who is Applegate?” asked Joey.

  “The fellow who was to take the slaves from Henrietta to the next stop,” said Beezer.

  “He didn’t give up without a fight, did he?” asked Story.

  “No. He knew they would just hang him so he tried to get away.”

  “He only tried? He didn’t actually get away?” asked Glory.

  “That’s right,” Beezer said. “Colonel Horsebaum shot him dead right . . .” Beezer walked a few steps toward the tree. “here.”

  “Wow,” said Story.

  “What happened to Henrietta,” Glory asked. Her voice was anxious. In anticipation of bad news she held her hand over her mouth.

  “Oh, she was brave and proud. ‘You will have to answer his death before God,’ she says.” Beezer had changed from telling the story to acting out the parts.

  “‘I’ll have to do nothing of the sort,’ answers the Colonel. ‘He was nothing but a thief and traitor.’

  ‘You are the thief,’ she says, ‘for you steal human beings’ freedom.’”

  Beezer stood as tall as he could when speaking as Miss Henrietta. He screwed his face up and he spoke with a bitter edge as he spoke Colonel Horsebaum’s part.

  “‘I demand that you tell me where you are hiding the slaves,’ says the Colonel.

  ‘You may as well shoot me, too. I will never tell,’” Beezer said as Henrietta. He stood with his hand over his heart as he delivered the lines.

  “Did he?” asked Story.

  “Did he what?” answered Beezer.

  “Shoot her.”

  “I’m a-gettin’ there. Don’t rush me,” said Beezer, his eyebrows coming together. “Colonel Horsebaum, being a reasonably bright man, figured out that the slaves were hidden in the cellar. Dragging Henrietta by her arm they descended into the darkness using a lantern as their only light.”

  Beezer went through the motions of going down stairs, holding a lantern.

  “At first there appeared to be nobody there, but then the Colonel heard a little cry coming from behind a canvas hung on the wall. He tore it down with one hand and there, crouched in fear in a little cave dug in the wall, sat a mother, father, and three young children.

  “‘Abominable!’ shouted the Colonel. ‘How could a human being with Horsebaum blood in her veins be involved in such a wicked deed? The Horsebaum name has been ruined forever!’ And then he pointed the gun at the father and said, ‘We will return these slaves immediately to their rightful owner and say we captured them in the woods behind our house. If you are wise, you will tell no one of what you have done. The Horsebaum name may be saved from dishonor yet.’”

  Beezer paused here to prepare for Henrietta’s final lines. He put his hand over his heart and straightened his back.

  “Henrietta stood up tall, chin in the air, and said, ‘The name Horsebaum means nothing to me; but freedom does. For as long as I live I will continue to help these people find their freedom.’”

  Beezer stood completely still with his hand over his heart for two or three seconds. It was like he was watching a flag being raised. Then he dropped out of character.

  “Colonel Horsebaum was so mad he could hardly speak. W
hen he did finally speak his face was red. Veins bulged at his temples. He told Henrietta that if she was going to take that attitude she would never set foot outside of the house again. He said it would be for her own good and for the sake of their family name.”

  “That’s being grounded for a long time,” said Story.

  “But she was so good,” said Glory. Tears ran down her cheeks. “Someone saved her, didn’t they? She got away?”

  The children stared at Beezer, eyes wide.

  “Actually,” Beezer said, “she didn’t even think about what was going to happen to her. She was so worried about this family being sent back into slavery. She threw herself on the Colonel and yelled to the family, ‘Run! Run for your lives to where I told you. You can find it. Others will be there to help you.’

  “Colonel Horsebaum, struggling with Henrietta, yelled for them to stop or he would shoot. He stretched out his arm and aimed his pistol. Henrietta grabbed his arm and pulled the gun down into her own chest. There was an explosion. Henrietta jerked as the bullet entered her heart. Just before she died she looked up into the Colonel’s eyes and said, ‘Now you must answer to God for two innocent lives.’”

  Beezer acted out this last part as he spoke. He grabbed the imaginary arm and gun; jerked as the gun went off. With one arm outstretched and the other across his chest he staggered backward and then fell to the ground dead. For a moment there was silence. No birds sang and no breeze whispered through willow limbs. Tears continued to run down Glory’s cheeks. Joey, Glory and Story sat down in the shade of the tree forming a half circle around Beezer. They looked at him thinking of the tragic Henrietta.

  “But it wasn’t over yet,” Beezer said, sitting up.

  The kids jumped.

  “You mean she didn’t die?” asked Glory. There was hope in her voice.

  “But you can’t live with a bullet in your heart,” said Joey.

  “Oh, she died, right there in Colonel Horsebaum’s arms,” said Beezer. “Believe it or not Colonel Horsebaum nearly died with her from grief. She had been like a daughter to him. When he realized he had killed her it was almost more than he could bear. He knew she was right; he had taken two innocent lives. Unfortunately for him his realization didn’t bring her back. He buried her in the old Eagle’s Flight Cemetery up the road a-piece on the hill.”

  The kids looked the direction Beezer indicated. They couldn’t see it through the trees.

  “He got in trouble, didn’t he?” asked Joey, bringing his attention back to Beezer.

  “He had been trying to stop the escape of slaves, so the law saw his use of force as justified,” answered Beezer.

  “You mean they didn’t put him in jail?” said Glory.

  “No, they didn’t do anything to him,” said Beezer. “They saw him as a kind of tragic hero.”

  “But that’s not fair,” said Joey. The anger he felt surprised him.

  “Ah, but what did happen was worse than any jail could ever be. In fact it was worse than death itself!”

  Beezer paused for full effect. During the pause the world was silent. It was as if the willow tree, the grass, and the entire world were waiting to hear the rest of the story. Joey heard only one sound during the pause—the soft note of a wind chime. It rang and hung softly in the air. Beezer heard it too. Joey saw the recognition in his eyes. Glory and Story showed no sign of hearing anything. They stared unwaveringly at Beezer waiting for him to continue.

  “Every night for the rest of his life at eleven o’clock, which was when the Colonel accidentally shot Henrietta, no matter where he was in the house he could hear that shot again. When he looked out that back window right there,” he pointed to the kitchen window, “he would see Henrietta’s ghost rise through the cellar doors. She would turn and look right at him with burning eyes. Then she would walk into the woods towards the cemetery where she was buried. Some nights he would run out of the house and call to her pleading for forgiveness, but she wouldn’t speak to him. She never even looked back. She would float up the hill and disappear at her grave.”

  They all sat in silence. Slowly, gently, as the magic of the story wore off, the world started turning again. A breeze danced through the willows of the tree. A mocking bird called. A car passed on the highway out front.

  “This house is haunted?” Story’s eyes were wide. “Cool!”

  “You have it all wrong.” Beezer said, raising his hand. “The house never was haunted, just Colonel Horsebaum. He was never to forget that he had been wrong in shooting Henrietta and John Applegate. When he died, Henrietta’s job of haunting was done.”

  “You mean she doesn’t float around here anymore?” asked Glory. There was disappointment in her voice.

  “I didn’t say that.”

  “You’re very confusing,” she said, folding her arms.

  “Not if you’d let me finish,” Beezer said. “Henrietta still comes a-visitin’ at times—mainly when someone is doing wrong in this house or when someone needs help. These things seem to disturb her and bring her back.”

  “What do you mean,” asked Joey.

  “Ten years ago a couple of escaped convicts hid out in the cellar. These men were wanted for some nasty things and had it in mind to harm your aunt. Your Aunt Winocha didn’t even know they were there until one night she heard the most horrible screaming. She looked out that there window, the same one Colonel Horsebaum looked out, and saw the cellar doors fly open. Two convicts come running out hollering like they was on fire. It’s said they ran straight back to prison screaming all the way.”

  “So what happened in the cellar?” asked Glory. She sat with her knees up against her chest, squeezing them tightly.

  “Henrietta!” said Story, reverently.

  “Yes,” said Beezer. “Just a few seconds after the convicts came out screaming, Henrietta came floating up the stairs. She got about right here, then turned around and smiled.” Beezer got up and acted this out. “And then she disappeared.” Beezer snapped his fingers.

  “But you said Henrietta always floated off across the fields to the cemetery,” said Story. He thought he had caught Beezer in his own words.

  “Even a ghost can be in a hurry,” answered Beezer.

  “Have you ever seen her?” asked Joey. There was something about Beezer—the way he spoke, the way he acted, or maybe it was the look in his eye—that made him believe every word Beezer said.

  Beezer leaned forward and whispered,“You gotta promise me you won’t tell anyone. A lot of people don’t take kindly to people who seen ghosts.”

  “We promise,” the kids whispered.

  “I’ve seen her. One time was about four years ago. It was night. The moon was out. I had been working late on my model train, the one you kids found, and was just coming out of the garage when I heard something.”

  “Was it scary?” asked Glory, raising her hands to her mouth.

  Beezer looked at her and said, “No. It wasn’t scary at all. In fact it made me feel good; the way a cool breeze does on a hot day. I heard soft sounds like faraway wind chimes. I couldn’t tell where the sound came from. It could have come from any direction. As I looked around I saw her right over there by the lilac bushes. She was meandering along as if she had just come out for a night-time walk to enjoy the summer evening.”

  “Did she look dead?” asked Story, hopefully.

  “Well, she was a little pale,” answered Beezer. “But other than that she was beautiful.”

  Joey felt a warm tingling in his stomach as he listened. He wished he could have been with Beezer that night.

  “She was wearing curls all around her head,” Beezer said. “Her face was the prettiest you ever saw, and her white dress was flowing and elegant. She glowed.”

  Joey and Story smiled dreamily as they imagined Henrietta. Glory looked down at her skinny body wondering if she would ever be as pretty as Henrietta.

  Beezer got up, went over to the cellar doors and shut them. Looking back at them, he said, “Joey h
ere has good instincts. You best listen to his advice. Now, Joey. I’ve come to introduce myself to your mother. Where’ll I find her?”

  Joey got up and led Beezer in through the kitchen and down the long hall to the library. They found Mrs. Johanaby sitting in front of a computer. She stared blankly at some sort of lesson on the screen.

  “Ah, a computer,” Beezer said. “I’ve heard of them.”

  Mrs. Johanaby jumped and whirled around in her chair. “Who are you?” she asked her hand on her chest.

  “This is Beezer, Mom.”

  Mrs. Johanaby stared at him. Her mind seemed to still be on her lesson.

  “We told you about him at lunch,” said Joey.

  “Hello, Mrs. Johanaby,” Beezer said, giving an awkward half-bow as he spoke. “Beezer Martin, fix-it-man, at your service. I trust you’ll find everything in the house in working order?”

  Mrs. Johanaby, finally becoming fully present, asked, “You are the caretaker?”

  “That I am,” Beezer said with some pride.

  Mrs. Johanaby stared at Beezer in silence for several awkward seconds. She had a lot of questions, but all of them would sound rude. As she looked into his magnified eyes she felt her apprehensions evaporate. Looking at him she felt the same peace she felt last night while sitting on Joey’s bed.

  Finally she found her voice. “It’s good to meet you, Mr. Martin—”

  “Beezer,” he interrupted.

  “—Beezer. It’s good to meet you, Beezer,” she said. “Aunt Winocha’s lawyer said there was a helper who stayed here.”

  Joey noticed his mother’s cheeks redden a little as she began speaking again.

  “I . . .” She cleared her throat nervously. “I’m afraid we’re going through hard times, Beezer. We have no way to pay you for whatever you do around here, but you’re welcome to stay as long as you like.”

  “I should hope so,” Beezer said, standing as tall as he could. Joey smiled when he saw that Beezer, even when standing tall, was shorter than his mom. “I kinda come with the house,” Beezer looked around for an example, “like the roof does,” he said pointing up. “I haven’t been paid since long before you were born.”