The Laura Line

by Crystal Allen

  But it’s not so much the shack I’ll miss, and that’s why I keep walking. As I make my way to the backyard, to the cemetery, I stand in front of the crosses and think of each Laura. I don’t want to leave them. They’ve helped me figure out so much stuff about myself.

  But there’s one thing I need to give to them. I’ve been putting it off because I didn’t know how. Now I’m running out of time and I’ve got to say this. So I stand in front of Laura Ann’s cross, where I feel the most comfortable, and say what’s on my mind.

  “I broke the chair. I don’t think anybody except Lauras should be responsible for what goes on in that shack. I know each of you was in there at one time or another. And you took care of it. But I made a big mistake, and I want to say I’m so sorry.”

  I know they weren’t perfect. It’s clear to me from the pictures that they were overweight, but happy with themselves. And their letters proved they struggled with all kinds of different stuff but never gave up. Through everything, the Line stayed strong.

  So I keep talking.

  “Thanks to you, for the first time since third grade, I’m not Fat Larda. I’m proud to be part of the Line, and I’ll do everything I can to represent it.”

  I stuff my hand into my pocket and rub the flyer.

  “Laura?”

  It’s Mom. Grandma’s with her. They stand next to me and take my hands. We stand in silence, staring at the crosses. All three of us know the stories. And we know the Lauras.

  But as I stand there with Mom and Grandma, it dawns on me that at this very moment, I’m with my very own Laura Line, the living one. They’ve both followed the paths they wanted to take. And it didn’t matter what people thought or said about them.

  After a few moments, I break the silence.

  “So let’s go inside, all three of us at the same time.”

  Mom’s head tilts. “You really went inside?”

  I giggle. “More than once. Come on!”

  Mom nods as Grandma wipes a tear away. We walk hand in hand to the shack before letting go and making our way up the steps. Once Mom comes in, she looks at the table.

  “Where’s the little chair?”

  It’s time I come clean. But just before I speak up, Grandma does.

  “It broke by accident.”

  I pull out a chair for Grandma and nod at the other seat. “You can have that one, Mom. I don’t need to sit right now. But I need to hear the truth about something.”

  I’ve got Mom’s and Grandma’s full attention as I walk to the window and stop. I’m biting my lip to cut any extra drama that might try to drip out, because this has been bothering me for a few days. So I slowly turn back to Grandma and ask what I need to know.

  “What can you tell me about the first Laura?”

  Grandma reaches for the ledger and holds it close to her heart as she stands and moves to a rocking chair. Then she turns and looks into me, like she did at Mrs. Jacobs’s house.

  “I can tell you what’s been told to me. Come close.”

  Mom’s not moving, as if she’s giving Grandma center stage. Maybe this is between Grandma and me, but I need to know what really happened. So I sit on the floor at Grandma’s feet and look up into her face as she begins a gentle rock in the chair.

  “I’m ready, Grandma.”

  Grandma gets that spacey look on her face as she blinks slowly and begins.

  “First, her name was Zahara, not Laura. She was a beautiful girl, with skin as smooth as silk fabric. She had the cutest little nose and lovely, full lips. Zahara lived in Mendeland, Africa, with her mother, father, and younger sister, Kinzi. It’s no longer called Mendeland. It’s now known as Sierra Leone.”

  I cross my legs. “Did Zahara like her little sister?”

  Grandma looks down at me and smiles. “Oh, yes. Zahara liked to play hiding games with Kinzi. But one day, as they played, Zahara was captured, shackled, and forced to board a ship loaded with others who’d been treated the same horrible way. She had never been on a ship before, and the movement across the ocean made her very sick. Many days and nights later, when the ship stopped moving, Zahara believed she had been brought back home to Mendeland.”

  I shake my head. Grandma reaches down and rubs my shoulder as she continues.

  “Scared, sick, and starving, Zahara ended up in a land she’d never seen. It was Cuba. There, she and the other captives were sold to two Spanish men. Those two Spaniards transferred Zahara and the other captives to a smaller ship called the Amistad. Since Zahara was only fifteen, she was placed in the back on the bottom deck of the schooner, with four other children. Are you getting this, Laura Eboni?”

  I’m not sure I’ll be able to handle it. I’ve got a tear backup forming and Grandma just started the story.

  “I think so.”

  She continues. “Now back on the water and feeling sick again, Zahara begged for someone to help her, pleading that a mistake had been made and that she needed to get back home to help take care of her sister. It was then that she overheard two captives planning a revolt. They whispered until everybody knew the plan. Zahara had never killed anyone, but she knew a takeover was the only way she could get back home to her family.”

  I put my hand on the arm of Grandma’s rocker. “I bet she was scared.”

  Grandma nods and keeps going. “As the battle began, Zahara was told to stay with the four little ones huddled in the very back, named Kali, Teme, Kagne, and Margru. Zahara comforted the children, like she did her sister back home. She stayed with the children after the captives took over the ship and believed they were heading back home to Mendeland, but at night, as the captives slept, the Spaniards actually steered the ship away from Africa. The Amistad ended up in Connecticut.”

  I frown. “What a dirty rotten trick.”

  Grandma keeps rocking. “Yes, it was. So Zahara kept her promise to the children and took care of them, even as the American guards forced them into a small jail.”

  I’m ready to cry again. “What happened?”

  Grandma motions me to sit in the rocker next to her. I do and wait patiently for her to finish the story. She begins to rock again, but now, she’s looking out the window.

  “One night, Zahara heard a conversation between one of the jail guards and a man dressed in all black with black boots and a black hat. This man in black pulled paper and coins from his pocket and gave them to the guard, who stuffed the paper and coins into his pocket.”

  I start rocking in my chair. “This doesn’t sound good, Grandma.”

  “It’s not. The man in black pointed to the children, and the guard opened the jail and tried to shackle them, but Zahara pushed him away. Others awakened from the noise, but they were warned to stay back. Zahara kept fighting, even though the guard hit her with his fist. Then suddenly, the man in black whistled. The guard turned and saw the man was now pointing at Zahara instead of the children, so he stopped fighting her, opened the jail, and left.

  “So the man in black left the children alone?”

  “Yes. And Zahara believed she’d won the battle and the fight was over.”

  My knower stirs. “But it wasn’t.”

  Grandma lowers her eyes and shakes her head. “When the guard came back, instead of clamping the cold iron chains around the children, he shackled Zahara’s hands, feet, and neck. It was then that she realized the man in black was taking her instead of the children. And since her job was to protect the children, she chose not to fight.”

  I grab my pigtails. “Grandma, I don’t know if I can—”

  “You can, Baby Girl. It’s almost over.”

  I can’t stop the tears, and maybe I’m not supposed to. So I keep listening.

  “The children cried, but Zahara told them to be strong. Then, as if she knew, she said to the children: ‘Promise me that when you return to Mendeland, you’ll find my family and tell them I love them. And tell my sister, Kinzi, I will be back to play with her soon.’ And the children promised.”

  I’m
wiping my eyes. “Why didn’t the other captives help her?”

  Grandma’s wiping hers, too. “I don’t know. All I was told by my grandmother, Laura Jean, was the guard pushed her and made her leave the jail cell. As she walked away in shackles, Zahara watched the guard grab a paper and a stick with paint at the end.”

  I’m confused. “A stick with paint at the end? I don’t understand.”

  Grandma nods. “We think she was describing a pen.”

  I shrug. “Oh. What did he do with the pen and paper?”

  Grandma closes her eyes. “We believe the guard had a checklist of every person aboard the Amistad on that paper. We also think the night Zahara was sold to the man dressed in black, the guard scribbled through Zahara’s name as if she’d never existed. To prove our point, in all of the historic documents discussing the Amistad and its captives, there is never a mention of a young girl from Mendeland named Zahara.”

  I’m ready to fight. “But the other captives knew! They knew about Zahara! Why didn’t they try to find her once they were freed?”

  “Maybe they did. But her name had changed from Zahara to Laura. How would they find her?”

  I glance over at Mom. She’s hurting. I see it in her face. I see it in Grandma’s. All three of us sit in silence, and I believe we’re feeling the same pain. And the only thing I can think of that would connect our emotions like that would be our knowers. Maybe we’re connected all the way down the Line. That’s why each of the Lauras felt so close to me. It’s because they were.

  I’m shaking my head because it’s so hard to believe. So I tell Grandma how I’m feeling.

  “Do you think anybody would ever believe that story, Grandma? I mean, there’s nothing to prove it’s true.”

  We sit for a moment as my question lingers in the air. Finally Grandma says what I should already know.

  “Does it matter what others think? For us, as members of the Laura Line, to deny her existence means we deny ours. If we ignore her again, then we’re no different from the men who kidnapped and sold her into slavery. They made sure there was no record of her. They wanted to erase the fact of her existence. I refuse to do that to her again.”

  Silence hovers in the room long enough for me to understand the importance of what Grandma’s saying. And as if Mom knew, she calls me on it.

  “Laura, before I left for Killeen, I asked you a question, but you didn’t have an answer. I told you I wanted one when I got back. So here we are, and I’ll ask you again. Who are you?”

  I turn toward the pictures on the wall, then stand and raise my chin toward the silhouette of the first Laura. Grandma stands next to me and raises her chin, too. Mom joins us before I tell her what I couldn’t two weeks ago.

  “I’m Laura Eboni Dyson, the youngest member of the Laura Line, and I can do anything.”

  The paper in my pocket digs at me, so I take it out and look at it. Then I take the ledger from Grandma’s hand and lead her back to the table. Once I put the ledger on the table and Grandma takes a seat, I let out a big sigh.

  “Mom, Grandma, there’s something I want to do. I got an invitation to try out for a baseball team. I’m scared. I mean, I’ve always dreamed of playing baseball, and now I’ve got a shot at making that dream come true.”

  Mom and Grandma wait patiently for me to finish. But instead of telling them about it, I show them.

  I grab the ledger and put it on the table between us. I open the ledger and turn the pages until I get to the back, where there’s extra cover sheets and plastic sheet protectors. I take one of each out of the ledger and place them on the table.

  As Mom and Grandma watch, I put the flyer in the plastic sheet protector and insert it in the front of the ledger. Grandma covers her mouth and so does Mom. I put a cover sheet over it and then look up.

  “It doesn’t matter if I make the team. What matters is that I don’t pass up the opportunity to try.”

  Chapter Thirty-Three

  There’s a knock on the shack door, and I open it. It’s Dad. He looks over at Grandma.

  “The guys are finished cutting the grass.”

  Grandma gets up. “I’m on my way.” She turns to us and winks. “We’ll have plenty of opportunities to finish these stories.”

  Mom and I follow Grandma out of the shack. The bright sun shines on my face, and I feel incredible. Now I want everybody to know about the Laura Line and the shack. I want the world to know about the exceptional women in my family. And I can start by acting like one of them.

  I reach for Dad’s hand. “I’d like to introduce you to a boy who goes to my school, and his dad.”

  When we’re close enough, I do the honors.

  “This is Troy. We have history class together and he pitches for our school’s team. And that’s his dad.”

  Mr. Bailey sticks out his hand. “John Bailey.”

  Dad shakes his hand. “Larry Dyson. Nice to meet you.”

  Mr. Bailey says, “So you taught Laura how to pitch?”

  Dad grins. “I sure did. Have you seen her curveball?”

  Mr. Bailey chuckles. “Not only did I see it, she taught Troy how to throw it!”

  They laugh, and Troy holds up his hand for me to give him a high-five. I give him a hard slap. He checks his hand for red marks. I did that on purpose. I’m still mad because he bailed on me last night and I missed out on my “rockets’ red glare” kiss, even though it looks like the “new client” excuse is legit.

  Mr. Bailey nudges Troy.

  “Did you give Laura the flyer?”

  “Yes, sir.”

  Dad looks my way. “What flyer?”

  I swallow to clear my throat before giving him the good news.

  “I’m going to try out for Mr. Bailey’s select baseball team.”

  Dad’s face lights up. “Baseball? Are you serious?”

  Troy starts to hold up his hand for another high five but changes his mind. Instead, he just smiles, and those deep dimples call for me to come take a ride. I can’t stop the sudden daydream since I’m already picturing myself at a baseball stadium, waving at the crowd from inside Troy’s dimple as he carries me out to the pitcher’s mound. Then his voice brings me back to the present.

  “Glad you’re going to try out, Dyson. We may go undefeated!”

  I smile. “Heck to the double yes we will!”

  Mr. Bailey steps closer to Dad. “Laura’s tryout is basically a formality. I already see her in my starting rotation of pitchers. Listen, would you be interested in helping me coach the team? Laura tells me you played ball in college.”

  Dad’s pumped. “I was the starting catcher. Hit pretty good, too. I’d love to help out.”

  Mr. Bailey reaches in his pocket and gives Dad a card. “Perfect. Let’s get together for lunch early next week. I’ve got a few ideas and I’d like to hear yours, okay?”

  Dad takes the card and shakes Mr. Bailey’s hand. “You bet. I’m looking forward to it, John.”

  Later that evening, after Grandma, Mom, and Dad have all gone to bed, I stand in my room and stare at the shack from my window. I can’t believe I’m getting all sentimental about this. I’m going to ding myself for it. But I can’t help how I’m feeling.

  Why did that chair have to break? I hate being part of the reason why it’s broken. And now I’ll have to look at that basket of busted wood the rest of my life. I’ll probably end up writing about it in the ledger.

  Since this is my last night, I think I’ll take a flashlight and go out there, just to say my good-byes. I wrap my robe around me and scoot into my slippers. I get the flashlight, open the dresser, and grab my last Almond Joy. I’m not taking it home. I’m taking it now. I tiptoe out of the house and across the yard.

  I think about what Grandma told me she did when she was a child, sneaking inside the shack so she could spend time with her mom. It all makes sense to me now.

  Once I get to the door, I turn the doorknob, go in, and walk straight to the ledger. I want to apologize again for
the chair, but suddenly, a calm rushes over me. I close my eyes, take a deep breath, and let it out. I feel better than I ever have about what happened.

  Maybe what I’m feeling is the Line forgiving me. I find a rocking chair, take a seat, and unwrap my last piece of chocolate as I enjoy this last night in the quiet of the shack.

  I’m all packed on Sunday morning. I’ve folded my clothes neatly—unlike how they were when I came here—and my luggage is stacked and ready to go.

  As I make my way to the car, I can’t believe how emotional I am. And it gets worse when I find Grandma waiting for me at the car. I’m not sure how long we hug, but it feels the same way Mom’s hug felt when she left for Killeen two weeks ago. I pull away and look at Grandma.

  “So can I come back on Saturday?”

  Grandma lets out a hearty laugh. “I can’t wait! Maybe there will be a good baseball game on for us to watch.”

  I shake my head. “Grandma, what are you going to do when baseball season is over?”

  Her eyebrows scrunch together. “When does the season end?”

  I grin. “The World Series happens in October. After that, there’s no more baseball until spring.”

  Grandma claps her hands. “Oh, that’s perfect! It’ll end just in time for basketball season. Edna and I have season tickets to the Houston Rockets!”

  I giggle. “Grandma! You’re a major sports fan! Maybe Saturdays can be our day.”

  She winks. “How about we have an early Saturday morning brunch date twice a month, around the time when Bailey and Bailey cut my grass?”

  My eyes widen. “Ooooh, yeah! That sounds awesome, Grandma!”

  “Then Saturday brunch it is, starting next Saturday! I love you.”

  I hug her and get into the car. “Love you, too, Grandma.”

  I wave through the back window until Dad turns onto the gravel road. Then he starts talking about baseball and all his ideas for the team.

  Mom reaches for my hand, and I give it to her. “Are you okay?”

  I nod and smile. “Heck to the double yeah. I’m better than ever.”

  Acknowledgments