The Laura Line

by Crystal Allen

  “Just let me out here. Thanks so much for the ride. I’ll see you tomorrow, Sage.”

  “Okay. Are you really giving the tour tomorrow?”

  I hold my chin in the air. “No matter what, I’m doing it.”

  They take off, and after getting the mail, I start my walk down the gravel road. I need it today, because I’m not sure if I’m going to cry or not. I don’t want Grandma to see me crying. And this walk will give me time to get it all out before she sees me.

  I take my time, looking at everything, hoping to think of some better ideas, but it doesn’t work.

  As I climb the hill, I see Troy. Again? This is the third day in a row. I shuffle over to him with my head tilted. He points to the house.

  “Dad’s just picking up a check.”

  “Oh.” I put my backpack on the shack steps.

  He pretends he’s throwing a pitch. “Hey! I’ve been practicing that changeup. It’s looking pretty good. But what about that knuckleball?”

  I grin when I remember my promise. “Come on. Let’s go to the mound.”

  That’s just what I need right now. I need to throw. Troy’s helping me, and he doesn’t even know it. Hopefully, before we’re through, this situation will make sense to me. And tomorrow, I’ll be ready to give the best tour ever.

  Grandma and Mr. Bailey come over to my pitching area. Troy’s excited.

  “Check out my new knuckleball, Dad.”

  He throws a perfect one, and Grandma speaks up.

  “Fell out of the air like a dead bird.”

  Troy takes a bow and we all laugh. Then Grandma does something unexpected.

  “Baby Girl, I’ve been talking with Mr. Bailey, and since tomorrow is a really big day for you, giving the tour and all, I thought we could celebrate by going to see the Astros play tomorrow night! I’ve got tickets for the four of us!”

  My eyes widen. “Troy’s going, too?”

  She grins. “If he wants to, he can! I bought him a ticket!”

  This is almost like a date! I’m waiting for Troy to say something smart so I can shove a ball in his mouth. But instead, he jumps at it.

  “The Astros are playing the Yankees! That’s going to be an awesome game. I am so there! Thanks, Mrs. Anderson. Yo, Dyson, you bringing a glove?”

  “Ding.”

  Mr. Bailey laughs. “Troy and I will pick you two up tomorrow at six.”

  “We’ll be ready!” I say that a little bit louder than I meant, but it’s okay.

  Sweet Mother of Milk Chocolate Hunky Chunkies! I’m going out on a date with Troy Bailey. That means I’ll be with the finest boy in school, watching my most favorite sport ever.

  As Troy and his dad leave, I hug Grandma. “I love you, but you’ve got to take your allergy medicine before we go. And no sneaking pork chop sandwiches into the ballpark, okay?”

  Grandma holds up a finger. “And we won’t have to leave early this time. Check out my new hat.”

  She reaches into her pocket, pulls out an Astros cap, and puts it on her head.

  “How do I look?”

  I hug her again. “Like a real baseball fan, Grandma.”

  Chapter Thirty

  I’m up long before my alarm clock blares because I can’t oversleep. Today wouldn’t be a good time for that to happen. I’ve changed outfits three times and settle on a beautiful red and black dress that I usually wear to church. I braid and rebraid my hair because the part in the center of my head seems . . . off-center. I check my teeth. And my lip gloss. Everything has to be perfect.

  I step out of my room and into the kitchen. Grandma wipes her hands on her apron and gives me the biggest grin I’ve seen in the two weeks I’ve been here.

  “You look so beautiful, Laura Eboni.”

  I’m so used to her calling me Baby Girl that hearing my real name slide off her lips makes me feel grown-up and responsible for everything that happens today during the tour.

  “I’m so nervous, Grandma.”

  “You’re going to knock their socks off! And you’ve got a whole line of Lauras waiting to back you up. This is a big day for all of us. I’m so proud of you.”

  “Thanks, Grandma. I’m not very hungry this morning. I think it’s stomach jitters.”

  “Got to eat something. Maybe just a little fruit.”

  I rush through my bowl of sliced apples and strawberries before grabbing my backpack and opening the door. The shack is the first thing I see. Instead of turning the other way, I want to run to it and hide all day. But I can’t. It wouldn’t be right. Today’s a big day for the Line.

  I’ve got black flats on to match my dress, but the crunch of the gravel under my feet makes me think of my nerves. I’m breathing in through my nose and out through my mouth, hoping to air out my stomach because the jitters are getting worse.

  When the bus comes, our driver’s smiling when the door opens. “Mornin’. You sure look nice this morning. Special day?”

  “Uh-huh” is all I can say as I take a seat near the middle of the bus. When Troy gets on, he slows down and stares at me.

  “Why are you all dressed up?”

  I turn and frown at him. “Because I’m giving the tour today and I don’t want to look all busted.”

  He shrugs. “Well, you don’t look busted.”

  “Thank you.”

  Did he just . . . ? My head makes an automatic left turn, and now I’m facing the back of the seat in front of me as my eyes open wider than the Mississippi River. I know my mouth’s open, too, but I don’t remember which muscles to use to shut it. I’m frozen, hopelessly numb dumb until he walks by and finds a seat. Maybe I’ll wear this dress again on Monday.

  Sunny gets on the bus and sashays by without speaking. Shane Doyles is right behind her. He slows down and is about to say something to me, but he doesn’t. Instead, he stares at my outfit for a long time. Then he strolls away without saying a word. This dress must’ve told him to keep steppin’.

  Sage is right behind him, and she makes a big deal out of my outfit too.

  “You look runway ready, Laura.”

  I close my eyes. “Thanks, Sage. But between Troy basically telling me just five minutes ago that I look gorgeous and doing the tour this morning, I’m stressed to the max.”

  Sage pats my arm and whispers. “That explains why when I got on the bus, I could’ve sworn he was looking your way. He was . . . oh Laura, don’t start misting.”

  I pull out a tissue and dab my face. “First I’ve got to ace this shack tour. Then I’m going to make that boy mine.”

  Sage giggles, and I do, too. She nudges me. “I’ve got to get my special camera equipment from my editor. Don’t let the bus leave without me.”

  At eleven o’clock, I’m the first person in line, right in front of the doors to the field trip bus. My knees knock like clappers as my heart pounds so hard that I swear it’s coming out. This will all be over in a few hours, but right now, that seems days away.

  I peek over my shoulder at my classmates. Some are texting, while others are talking about what they think they may see in the shack. But I hear Sunny playing down the field trip to a crowd that includes Troy and London. Sage walks up to join them with her camera equipment, just in time to hear Sunny try to ruin everything.

  “Don’t get your hopes up that you’re going to see something spectacular. It’s not all that. Trust me. I’ve already been inside. Oh, and there’s a cemetery, too. It’s a little creepy, but mostly boring and ugly. Hope you brought something to read.”

  I turn back toward the front and stare at my reflection in the glass of the bus doors. Last week, Sunny’s comments would’ve broken me down.

  But not today.

  I zone in on my eyes until I find my strike-out face. All the chatter, all the noise behind me fades to silence. I’ve seen baseball players smear black stuff under their eyes to fight the glare of the sun. If I had it, I’d wear it today, because I’m in a battle with the worst sun ever.

  Sunny Rasmussen. And
I’m going to sit her down.

  Mrs. Jacobs raises a hand. “Okay, let’s go. Remember, you’re seventh graders, so act like it.”

  I take the first seat on the opposite side from the driver. Sage sits next to me and places her camera equipment between us on the floor. When Troy gets on, he sits right behind me. London sits across the aisle from him, but that changes when Sunny boards.

  “What are you doing, London? I don’t want to sit there. Come on.”

  London looks my way, then follows Sunny farther back.

  The bus fills quickly, and soon we’re on our way. Sage leans over and smoothes my hair.

  “Are you okay?”

  I nod without looking at her. “I just need to be quiet right now, okay?

  She keeps talking. “I know you heard what Sunny said. But you’ve got to make the field trip fun, Laura. It’s not all about Sunny. It’s about how cool the shack is and all the awesomeness in the Laura Line. Don’t let Sunny change that. Just be yourself.”

  Everything Sage said oozes through me and I know she’s right, but my shoulders are so high and my jaw feels locked. I don’t know if I can relax in time.

  Soon the driver turns onto the gravel road and my stomach flips over and over again. Once he makes it up the hill and stops, I turn to Mrs. Jacobs.

  “I need a minute, okay? Just . . . let me go in first and I’ll be ready in a few.”

  Mrs. Jacobs smiles. “Okay. We’ll wait.”

  I hop off the bus and rush to the shack. I climb the steps and open the door. Maybe I should’ve postponed until Mom and Dad could be here with me. They’d know what to say to calm me down.

  It smells like a bakery inside. I look on the table and can’t believe my eyes. There’s a huge tray of chocolate chip cookies. Wait until Sunny Rasmussen sees this! But the more I look at those cookies, the more I realize this field trip isn’t about proving Sunny Rasmussen wrong. It’s about everything that’s right inside me. It’s proof that I’m not Fat Larda, but Laura, a descendant of the amazing Laura Line. And that’s worth more than a stack of fresh-baked cookies.

  I step back to the door and wave.

  “Okay, I’m ready!”

  I bring the tray of baked goodies outside and offer everyone a snack. The mood changes immediately. Sage takes pictures as my classmates, Mrs. Jacobs, and even the bus driver enjoy Grandma’s homemade delights.

  There’s laughter and curiosity, and I notice a couple of guys trying to see what’s out back. Troy’s trying to give his own tour, but I give him a mean face and he stops. I ask Sage to whistle since she’s good at it. All talking stops, and I begin.

  “What you’re about to see, inside and outside, are the coolest things ever. Let me just tell you first off, this is not a slave shack. It’s more like a time capsule that never got buried. Yeah, that’s what it’s like! There’s so much history in this place that I don’t know where to begin.”

  The sound of tires crunching hard dirt and gravel makes everyone turn around. An old green and white van with the letters VW on the front makes its way toward us. The engine sounds funny, almost like a windup toy, and the van is shaped like a cucumber. When it stops and the door opens, just the sight of Mr. Adams brings a feeling I haven’t felt since Mom left.

  A feeling that everything is going to be okay.

  But Mr. Adams represents something more than just hope. Maybe he can fix what’s broken. And I’m so happy that he thought enough of me to at least show up. He’s out of breath when he reaches us.

  “I postponed my early flight to Austin because I thought about this file all night. I just had to come. I’m pleased I made it in time.”

  I shake his hand. “I’m so glad you’re here.” I turn to my classmates. “Um, everybody, this is Mr. Bob Adams from the Texas Historical Commission. He’s here to examine the shack and the cemetery, take pictures, whatever, to see if they can become landmarks.”

  There’s a murmur going through the crowd, and I invite everyone inside. Mr. Adams is the last person and he checks his watch.

  “My flight’s changed to four, and my meeting in Austin’s not until this evening, so I want to see everything before I go.”

  I step inside the shack. “Then we better get started.”

  As I talk, everybody listens. But when I grab the ledger, the shack goes creepy silent. I pretend the red fruit punch stains aren’t on it, because right now, to me, it’s the most perfect thing in the room.

  “This is the ledger of the Laura Line. It has personal pictures, letters, awards, all kinds of things in it, about my ancestors. Some date back almost two hundred years. I’m going to put it on the table, but do not touch it. Don’t even ask to touch it.”

  When I’m through, there’s lots of talking as my classmates walk around to look at stuff. Mr. Adams uses his magnifying glass to examine pictures and Laura Jean’s sewing machine. Occasionally he makes notes in a notepad that’s similar to Sage’s.

  Troy raises his hand.

  “Yes, Troy.”

  He points to the broken chair. “Why do you have this basket of firewood way over here if the fireplace is over there?”

  What is he doing? He knows what happened. The memory of Monday night flashes through my mind quicker than a strike of lightning. I look around the room. Sunny folds her arms across her stomach. London’s head lowers. Sage won’t look at me. Troy’s frowning at all of them.

  And then I get it. Troy wants to shame the Pink Chips for what they did. And he’s probably hoping I’ll rat them out.

  But instead I hold my head up. “It’s not firewood. It’s a chair.”

  Troy shoves his hands into his pockets. “Yeah, right. Why don’t you tell everybody what happened.”

  His eyes shoot poison-tipped spears at Sunny and London. I sigh and look directly at Sage. “What happened isn’t important. You see firewood. I see something totally different. Let’s just move on.”

  The room falls silent again, as most of my classmates have no idea what I’m talking about. Mr. Adams raises his hand and I call on him. He points to the typewriter.

  “Laura, is this the typewriter you and Sage spoke of during our meeting?”

  I grin at my girl before answering. “Sure is.” I turn back to my classmates. “The letter G doesn’t work. The typewriter belonged to Laura Elaine. She was a reporter for the Brooks County Tribune.”

  Sunny speaks without raising her hand.

  “So how did she type for a newspaper without using the letter G?”

  I’m about to answer when a voice speaks up from the back. “She wrote it in with an ink pen.”

  When did Grandma get here? I didn’t see her come in! I smile and she smiles back.

  There’s another low murmur among my classmates. Sunny puts both hands on her hips and smirks. I’m praying something dumb comes out of her mouth. And she doesn’t disappoint me when she stares at Grandma and asks, “How would you know that’s what she did? I mean, seriously, were you there?”

  Ding.

  It’s moments like this when I wish the shack had a concession stand. But instead, I’m content to stare at Sunny while Grandma rips her a new attitude.

  “Yes, as a matter of fact, I was. Laura Elaine, the journalist, was my mother.”

  I hear someone from the back of the room say, “In your face, Sunny!”

  Mr. Adams turns to Grandma as she points to the shattered wood in the corner.

  “That used to be my special chair. I’d sit and watch my mother type, but she always kept a pen and a small bottle of ink next to her. I knew when she needed a G because she’d stop, let out the biggest sigh, then write it in. Her handwriting was so beautiful that you could hardly tell the difference between the typed letters and her handwritten G’s.”

  “You actually watched her do that?” asks Mr. Adams.

  Grandma nods. “Sometimes well past my bedtime.”

  He grins. “That’s an amazing story.”

  I interrupt. “I’ve got one more thing to show
you in here. And it’s mega.”

  I tell everyone about Laura Mae’s letter and what it said about the first Laura. Some of my classmates check out the wall of pictures looking for her. Others have that look on their faces that I had on mine when I first read the letter.

  Sunny can’t believe it.

  “Are you trying to say that the first Laura in your . . . line sacrificed her freedom for those four kids we’ve been reading about in history class? You expect us to believe that?”

  Troy steps forward. “I do.”

  Sage nods. “Me, too.”

  I press the ledger against me and walk to the wall.

  “Everybody gather in and stare at this wall of pictures. Now, very slowly, start walking backward, but keep your eyes on the wall.”

  They’re doing it and nobody’s asking why. So I get ready to show them what I’ve seen.

  “If you look closely, you’ll see . . .”

  London points. “It’s a face. I see it! Right there! The pictures outline the side of a face!”

  Grandma stands beside me as I reveal the biggest news ever. “You’re right, London. It’s the profile of the first Laura. Remember the handout Mrs. Jacobs gave to us two weeks ago? This is what her sketch would’ve looked like if she had been included.”

  It gets so loud in the shack that I can barely understand what’s going on. I look over at the picture profile and get teary eyed all over again.

  Troy’s trying to ease closer to the pictures. “What else do you know about her?”

  I shrug. “I don’t know her story, but I’m sure my grandma does, and one day she’ll tell me. See, some things were meant to be put in the ledger, but other things are for conversation between one Laura and another. Right, Grandma?”

  She puts her arm around me. “Exactly.”

  I raise my hand and point my thumb toward the backyard.

  “I’ve got something else to show you. Let’s go outside.”

  Everyone crowds around the cemetery as I introduce each Laura and the highlights of her life according to the ledger. I take my time, giving each one her fair share of the spotlight. Sage takes pictures of each cross, and Mr. Adams makes notes as I speak.