Look Ahead, Look Back (The Snipesville Chronicles Book 3)

by Annette Laing

  Mr. Osborn had been listening quietly, but now he cleared his throat. “I rather think the situation is more complicated than you understand. Mr. Gordon owns a highly profitable plantation in South Carolina, and I hear that he has contemplated selling Kintyre, which profits him very little. The difficulty is that land here in Georgia is very cheap. Indeed, Mr. Gordon was able to acquire this particular land gratis, that is to say, for no payment at all.”

  “Just a minute,” Brandon sputtered, raising a hand. “Mr. Osborn, sir, I’m sorry to interrupt, but are you saying that Mr. Gordon got his plantation for free? How?”

  Mr. Osborn drew breath. “His Majesty the King allows British subjects to claim free land in South Carolina and Georgia. Regrettably, land speculators have taken most of the land in South Carolina, either through connections in the government, or by purchasing it cheaply from the men who originally claimed it. Most men who acquire land free, you see, cannot afford to buy slaves, and they quickly find that their farms cannot compete with slave-run plantations. And so they sell the land to speculators, often for very little ready money. Speculators hold the property in hopes that fortune’s wheel will turn toward higher land prices in time.”

  “Kind of like people who flip houses,” Hannah said, intrigued. “I heard Dad talking about that one time.”

  Mr. Osborn gave her an odd look, and continued, “In Georgia, there is still free land to be won, but the same problem has begun to emerge here as it did in South Carolina, now that slavery is permitted. Once again, men who can afford slaves and land on the coast will make great fortunes, while others will struggle to make a living, or be forced to sell.”

  “But Mr. Gordon isn’t struggling,” Alex piped up. “He owns slaves. I’m one of them.”

  Mr. Osborn looked uncertainly at Alex for a moment, unsure of how a slave like “Cato” could understand the conversation. He decided to forge ahead.

  “He does indeed,” he said. “But I imagine that he has concluded, as have we all, that the land in St. Swithin’s Parish is of a very poor sort. Unlike the rest of us, however, Mr. Gordon has other prospects.”

  “That’s right,” said Hannah. “He’s building two houses in South Carolina: one on his plantation, and one in Charleston.”

  “Is that so?” said Mr. Osborn, lifting an eyebrow. “How very interesting, when he has pleaded poverty every time I have asked for a decent house to be provided for me.”

  “Isn’t there anything we can do for Sukey, sir?” Hannah pleaded.

  Mr. Osborn fidgeted uneasily. “I shall appeal to Mr. Jones and Mr. Gordon in the strongest possible terms. Even if Sukey were guilty of this dreadful crime, such a vicious punishment should be unconscionable to all Christians. But…” and here he sighed heavily, “I do not think that Mr. Gordon is much interested in my opinion. What happens, I am afraid, will depend on the other magistrates. Meanwhile, Brandon, we shall visit Sukey tomorrow morning, and offer her our spiritual counsel.”

  “Can I go with you to see Sukey?” Alex begged. “Please?”

  “If you wish, Cato,” Mr. Osborn said. “Now, I suggest that Hannah and Jane go forth to Mr. Jones’s house, and wait upon Mr. Gordon. He may need your assistance. He is your master, after all.”

  “Don’t remind me,” muttered Hannah.

  An hour later, Brandon, Alex, and Mr. Osborn found Sukey in the wooden lock-up near the church. It was even more miserable than the tiny jail in which Hannah had been imprisoned in Balesworth.

  Pressing his eye to a chink in the wood, it took Alex a moment to adjust his vision to the gloom. The first thing he noticed was that there was barely room on the dirt floor to lie down. Then he saw Sukey. She was hunched miserably in the corner of the tiny shack, shivering violently. Her hair was wet and water was dripping onto her from leaks in the roof.

  “Sukey, it’s me,” he called. “It’s Cato. Are you okay?”

  At first, there was no reply. Sukey said nothing, and Alex was alarmed. “Sukey? Are you okay?” he repeated.

  He saw her pull her tattered shawl over her shoulders. “They will burn me,” she said faintly. “But I never do nothing.” Unlike Alex, Mr. Osborn was tall enough to look through the bars in the lock-up door. “Sukey, confess your sins to God,” he intoned, “and you will receive His divine mercy.”

  She raised her head, and looked Mr. Osborn in the eye. “I swear by God, sir, I never do nothing. I do not steal that ring, and I do not make that fire. Cuffee tells lies to Mr. Gordon.”

  Brandon looked perplexed. “Did Cuffee set the fire?”

  Sukey shrugged. “I don’t know, Mr. Brandon. Maybe he is scared. Slaves say things we don’t mean when we are scared.”

  Brandon nodded, and turned to Mr. Osborn. “She’s right,” he said gravely. “I read about this. Slaves sometimes betray other slaves when they’re planning rebellions, because they’re scared they’ll get blamed and tortured.”

  Mr. Osborn was staring at him now. “What are you talking about, that you read such a thing? Were you reading about the ancient Romans?”

  “No, Mr. Osborn, I wasn’t,” Brandon said calmly. “I’m talking about American history. I read it in the twenty-first century, which is where I’m from.”

  Mr. Osborn shook his head in bewilderment, and said aloud to himself, “As though I were not besieged by difficulties, my servant reveals himself as a lunatic.”

  “No, I’m not, sir,” Brandon retorted angrily. “I’m from the future, and so is Alex, I mean, Cato. That’s Cato’s real name, by the way. Alex. We’re both from Snipesville. It’s a town that will be right here one day, right on this spot. We travel in time, and we don’t know why, but I do know it isn’t so we can stand by and allow an innocent person to burn to death. It’s true, sir, I swear it on the Bible. In our time, carriages are known as cars, and they work with mechanical engines, not horses. We’ve sent flying machines into the air, and into space. And we could have saved your wife from dying in childbirth.”

  “What is this madness? If that were true,” Mr. Osborn said angrily, “Then why did you not save my wife’s life? And that of Mrs. Gordon?”

  “We couldn’t do it ourselves,” Alex snapped. “We’re just kids. But our doctors can. They know much more about medicine than anyone in your time.”

  “This is absurd. Am I to believe that a slave is also a traveler in time?” Mr. Osborn said in evident disbelief, looking at Alex.

  “He’s not really a slave,” Brandon said. “He’s . . .” He stopped, and sighed, then said calmly, “Look, it’s like religion, sir. There’s more truth than we can prove. Sometimes you just have to take a leap of faith.”

  Mr. Osborn looked from Brandon to Alex, and back again. Neither of them avoided his gaze. Stunned, the minister put a hand to his head. “Why do you tell me this?” he whispered. “What have you to gain?”

  Brandon said stoutly, “I’m telling you because it’s true, and because we’d like you to help us. We need to find Mrs. Gordon’s ring, and we need to know who really set the fire. I don’t think it’s Sukey. Do you?”

  “I believe you may be right about Sukey, even if nothing else you say makes the slightest sense,” Mr. Osborn said weakly. “But what in the name of creation do you expect me to do to help?”

  To everyone’s surprise, Sukey spoke up from behind the door. “Sir, you must go to the witch. She will know what to do.”

  “Um, no,” Brandon said sadly, “Sorry, Sukey, but that’s actually not helpful. Look, Alex, maybe we can start interviewing people. We can just ask around. I’m a fan of mysteries, so maybe I can think up some questions.”

  “And I? What shall I do in this madness?” Mr. Osborn asked, still bewildered by the strange turn of events.

  “We’ll let you know,” Alex said brightly.

  But if the kids thought that the minister had accepted their story of who they were and where they were from, they were about to be disappointed.

  Mr. Osborn looked deeply troubled. “I will assist as best I
can to prevent an appalling miscarriage of justice,” he said. “But, Brandon, we will talk later about what you claim. If, as I believe, you are lying, then I shall hold you responsible for misleading Cato with this fantasy of yours. If you are suffering from some disorder of the mind . . . I know not what I shall do with you.”

  With that, he turned and headed back in the direction of his house.

  For a few seconds, Brandon watched him go. He was troubled by how the discussion had ended. Then he snapped out of his frozen state. “Okay, let’s make a plan,” he said to Alex. “First, we need a notebook. Or something like a notebook.”

  Alex raised an eyebrow. “And when have you seen a notebook around here? Or is there a Walmart that I don’t know about?”

  Brandon bit his lip. It was true. The only notebook he knew of belonged to Mr. Osborn, and it was one of the minister’s most prized possessions. Paper, Brandon remembered, was very expensive. A notebook was out of the question.

  He shrugged dismissively. “Okay, no notebook. We’ll just have to try to remember stuff.”

  Over the next few hours, the boys interviewed almost all of the slaves. But by the time they were done, Brandon was hopelessly confused about who had said what. He really wished he had thought harder about where he could find paper.

  But it was Alex who called time out to unravel their findings, and who smugly announced that he knew where they could take notes. He led Brandon down to the river, to a tiny sandy beach that jutted into the water. Grabbing a stick, he began to write names in the sand, starting with Sukey, then Tony, and so on.

  “That’s brilliant!” Brandon exclaimed. “Way to go, Alex. Why didn’t I think of that?”

  “Because you’re not perfect?” Alex smiled. “Right, the number one problem is that Sukey says she was home the entire evening before the fire. But nobody can confirm her alibi.”

  “On the other hand,” Brandon said, “nobody says they saw her outside.”

  “Hmm,” said Alex, waving his stick. “And nobody says they saw anyone else, either. So that leaves us . . .”

  “Up a creek?” Brandon suggested.

  Alex shook his head. “No. That leaves us Cuffee. He’s our next witness. Let’s go see what he has to say.”

  Cuffee was helping Tony to saw down a tree, and he smiled when he spotted Alex. His smile faltered a little when he saw that Alex was with Brandon.

  “Good day, Master Brandon,” he said with forced cheerfulness. Brandon immediately wondered if Cuffee had something to hide, but then he remembered that the slaves were never exactly relaxed around white people. And he was, at least for now, a white person.

  “Brandon and me,” Alex said, “we’re just wondering if you saw anything last night?”

  “Saw anything?” Cuffee asked, looking confused.

  “Well, actually,” Brandon said in his most self-important voice, “we mean anyone. We’re asking if you saw anyone leaving the quarters around the time of the fire, or hanging out near the house and the outbuildings.”

  Cuffee looked away. “I saw someone.”

  “Was it Sukey?” Alex asked nervously.

  “I can’t say,” Cuffee whispered, shrugging. He clearly was afraid that Tony would overhear the conversation about his mother.

  “Where were you when you saw her?” Brandon asked sharply.

  Cuffee thought for a moment. “I was in the barracks,” he said finally. “I was lying abed, but the door was open, and I see someone through the door, walking by.”

  Brandon leaned forward eagerly. “Did you see her come back in her hut? Was it Sukey you saw?”

  Cuffee shook his head. “Master Brandon, sir, Tony waits for me to cut down the tree. I best go back to work.”

  But as he left, Brandon called to him. “Cuffee, Sukey will die if you don’t help us. They will burn her to death. Can you call yourself a Christian with that on your conscience?”

  Cuffee turned back toward the boys and hesitated. Then he walked up to Brandon. “Master Brandon, I don’t know that I saw Sukey. Might have been someone else. Might have been Jane.”

  Then he looked scared, as though he had said too much.

  “Do you think it was?” Brandon pressed him. Cuffee just shook his head, and returned to his work. But now Tony was looking at him inquisitively, and as the boys left, Brandon noticed him cornering Cuffee.

  “I think we have our culprit,” Brandon muttered to Alex. “I think Jane did it. She was a criminal in London, a thief and who knows what else. But why would Cuffee cover for her?”

  And then Cuffee and Tony surprised them.

  Tony dragged Cuffee by the arm, back to the boys, and shook his shoulder. “Master Brandon,” he said slowly, “We have something to tell you.”

  Hannah and Jane found themselves in an awkward situation. Mrs. Jones had told them that it would not be seemly for two white girls to work under Juba’s direction, and it was clear that Juba didn’t want them around anyway.

  “What’s her problem?” Hannah whispered to Jane, after Juba threw them yet another dirty look. “Does she think we’re lazy? Why won’t she let us do anything?”

  Jane looked thoughtful. “I reckon she’s worried that we will take her job in the house, and she’ll ’ave to work outside.”

  “Huh, I hadn’t thought of that,” Hannah muttered. “So what do we do?”

  “I dunno,” Jane said, biting her nails. “Wait until the missus gives us something to do, I suppose. I’m in no ’urry to work, are you?”

  As though reading their minds, Mr. Gordon returned to the house, closing the door behind him.

  “Jane, Hannah, come here,” he said.

  Alarmed by his tone, the two girls reluctantly approached him. Hannah now had a bruise on her face where he had hit her, and she found herself shaking as she stepped toward him.

  He looked squarely at the girls. “It will be some time before my new house is completed here. In the meantime, I have decided to return to my home at Sidlaw. So the time has come for me to find a new master for Jane, and since I have no further use for your service, Hannah, in light of your ill-behavior, you will both have your remaining time auctioned in Savannah on Saturday.”

  Hannah was appalled. “You’re selling us?” she blurted out. “Both of us? But that’s just two days from now!”

  “Indeed it is,” Mr. Gordon said. And then he swept out of the house.

  Hannah stared after him.

  “Well,” Jane said miserably. “That’s that, then. We just have to hope we don’t get cruel new masters.”

  But it wasn’t, because Brandon and Alex chose that moment to arrive. And the news they brought was more shocking than Hannah could possibly have imagined.

  The boys beckoned Jane and Hannah outside, then led them into the woods, out of earshot of the people in the house. Brandon did not waste time. Immediately, he turned to Jane. “I have to ask you a question. Did you go back to the quarters before the fire?”

  Jane grew visibly nervous. “Why do you ask me that, pray?” she said.

  Brandon shook his head. “Never mind why I’m asking you. Did you?”

  But the answer was written all over her face. The other three kids looked at her curiously.

  Finally, it was Hannah who asked the most pressing question in a shocked whisper. “Jane, did you start the fire?”

  “No!” Jane exclaimed in horror. “T’weren’t me. But yes, I went back to the quarters. And I found this.”

  She reached into her pocket and pulled out something. It was Mrs. Gordon’s ring. Hannah’s eyes grew wide, and anger flashed across her face. “Why didn’t you tell me? Why did you lie to me?” She grabbed Jane and shook her hard. Alex and Brandon had to pull Hannah off her friend.

  Jane was unrepentant. “Because if I give it to you, you’d ’ave given it back to old Gordon, and he don’t need it, does he? Anyway, Mrs. Gordon gave it to you, fair and square, not ’im. It’s yours, ’annah. I reckoned I’d just hold on to it for you until it was safe
to give it back. He didn’t suspect me.”

  “You’re lying!” Hannah cried. “Did Sukey know you did this?”

  “Yeah, of course she did,” said Jane matter-of-factly. “You can ask ’er. And I ain’t lying. Sukey thought it was a good idea too, although she wanted me to ’ide it somewhere in the woods. ’Course, I didn’t do that because I was afraid I’d forget where I put it. All them trees look the same to me. Oh, blimey!” In her nervousness, Jane had slipped the ring onto her finger. Now, when she tried to pull it off, she found it was stuck.

  Hannah was beside herself. “This is a disaster. Brandon, Mr. Gordon is planning to sell me and Jane two days from now. What are we gonna do?”

  “I don’t have a clue,” said Brandon miserably. “But there’s something else I have to tell you both.”

  “What?” Hannah asked, glancing around for fear that Mr. Gordon would turn up and spot the ring on Jane’s finger.

  Brandon took a deep breath. “We do know who set the fire. Cuffee saw everything, and he told us about it. He even saw you, Jane, going into Sukey’s hut.”

  “And?” Hannah said impatiently, glancing at Jane, who had gone pale.

  “Don’t worry, Jane,” Brandon said, seeing her fear. “We know you didn’t do it.”

  In a solemn voice, Alex said, “It was Mr. Gordon.”

  “Oh, come on!” Hannah yelped. “That’s the best you can do, Sherlock? Why would he burn down his own house? Duh!”

  “To collect the insurance,” Brandon said bluntly.

  There was a stunned silence. Then Hannah said, “Brandon, are you sure about that?”

  “Not one hundred percent, no,” said Brandon. “I don’t have any history books here, and I can’t ask the Professor, so I can’t find out for sure if they had insurance in 1752. I’m just guessing that’s why. But we do know he did it, and that’s the only reason I can think of.”