We are quiet as Jess turns the page.
“It looks like the next entry is almost eight months later . . .”
CORN PUDDING
1 cup corn (fresh or frozen)
1 egg
1 cup light cream
1 tablespoon salt
1 tablespoon sugar
1 tablespoon butter
Instructions
1. Place corn in bowl. Add egg and beat together.
2. Add milk, salt, and sugar.
3. Melt butter in the baking dish.
4. Pour corn mixture into hot baking dish and bake at 350 degrees for 30 minutes, or until brown on top.
October 16, 1861
The knock on our back door came just before first light. Earlier in the week, Papa had received word that we could expect visitors at Locust Hill. What none of us expected was the dreadful sight that lay behind the door . . .
Anna Simmons dressed in the dark, silently thanking God for her new woolen stockings. A hard autumn frost had arrived last week, leaving a sharp chill in its wake. Although it was Sunday, Anna’s mother had instructed her to put on her work dress and apron. She would change into her “almost new” Sunday dress and bonnet after receiving their visitors.
As Anna laced her boots in the upstairs bedroom of their new house on Locust Hill, she heard a series of soft thuds, followed by her mother’s sharp gasp. What in the world? Anna thought, racing down the staircase and rounding the corner to the kitchen.
The room was cast in a series of shadows. Anna’s parents, Joseph and Emily Simmons, had risen earlier to cover the windows in anticipation of their visitors. The only light in the kitchen glowed from their new cast-iron stove. In the dimness Anna saw her mother bent over what appeared to be a form heaped in the doorway.
“Quick—help me get her in here,” Joseph ordered a man outside the door. “Then you can hide the wagon and the others in the barn.”
“Please be careful with the poor dear,” said Emily, smoothing the unconscious woman’s hair away from her face as the two men carried her body across the threshold.
“Good, you’re up, child,” Joseph told Anna after turning to see her in the doorway. “Spread a quilt near the stove so I can get a look at her.”
A careful physician, Joseph bent down and gathered the young woman in his arms like a newborn. When Anna had the quilt ready, he placed his patient facedown on the makeshift pallet. In the flickering light, Anna saw that the back of the woman’s thin dress was in shreds—and crusted with a brown substance that appeared to be blood.
“The barbarians,” muttered Joseph. “Emily, you’ll need to cut away these rags so I can dress the wounds. I’ll prepare a poultice.”
Checking often to be sure the woman was still breathing, Joseph spent the next hour carefully cleaning her wounds.
The scene was too much for Anna to bear. “Papa, may I bring food and water to our visitors in the barn?”
“In a moment, child, but first fetch my smelling salts. I want to try to rouse her. She needs to get some water down. Just from her cracked lips, I’d wager she hasn’t had any food or water for several days.”
“Joseph, why don’t you let me try,” suggested Emily. “The poor thing is apt to be frightened out of her wits if you’re the first face she sees upon waking. That’s not to say that you aren’t handsome . . . just a bit imposing.”
“You make a good point, as always, Mrs. Simmons,” Joseph replied, giving his wife an appreciative hug. “Anna, let’s see what needs to be attended to in the barn.”
“The sun is up,” said Emily. “Perhaps you should hide the food in the water pail so as not to attract attention if someone happens to be passing by.”
In the barn Anna distributed fresh milk and the corn pudding her mother had prepared the prior evening for their hungry guests. Two men and four women were huddled in the straw the driver had spread on the dirt floor. Their tattered clothing and haggard faces spoke of a difficult journey—and the hard life that preceded it.
As Anna worked, she overheard her father ask how the young woman was injured. She cringed as the driver related the sad tale of a brutal beating at the hand of a slave owner.
“You see, suh, ol’ Massa died last month and Young Massa take over. He a hard drinker, even though his mama cry her eyes out over it. He have his eye on Mary there ever since she a young girl in the quarters.
“Mary, she done got permission las’ year from the Ol’ Massa to marry a fine fella over on another plantation. She birthed her first lil’ baby ’bout a month ago. A right cute thing, if I do say so myself.
“Well, Young Massa don’ like his people thinkin’ they married. He say a slave got no right to be married . . . so he tries to get Mary to come stay wid him in the big house. Mary says she don’ wanna stay wid him coz she married. Young Massa been drinkin’ and gets powerful angry. He tells her to wait in the yard.
“Po’ Mary waits there all day and all night. In the mornin’ Young Massa comes out and says, ‘Now then, do you want to stay wid me in the house, or you want to live in the yard like a dog?’
“Mary, she a good girl . . . right religious. She say, ‘Massa, I married. It’s not right I stay in the house wid you. I have a young-un.’
“Well, this puts Young Massa in a hateful mood, and he say, ‘Well then, you can live like a dog.’ So he has Ol’ Jake chain Mary to a stake set right in the ground. He say she has to eat and drink out of a bucket jus’ like a dog.
“Well, Mary jus’ sits there in the sun all day. Young Massa leaves her chained to that stake for two more days with jus’ water one time a day. Now Mary’s startin’ to feel poorly wid no food and jus’ a little water, so Young Massa thinks he got her broke.
“He comes out and stands over Mary and say, ‘Now are you ready to do what I say? Or do you want to die like a dog too?’ Mary jus’ opens her eyes and looks at him, sayin’ nothin’. Then, all of a sudden, she sits up and spits right on his boot.
“Well, suh, this makes Young Massa so powerful mad that he hauls off and kicks her right in the face with his big ol’ boot. Then he tells Ol’ Jake to fetch his bullwhip.
“Suh, I never seen nothin’ like it. He tore that po’ girl up and then left her in the yard—still tied. Even Ol’ Jake, who seen a lot of things, couldn’t tolerate what Young Massa done.”
Joseph looks at the dusty barn floor, shaking his head.
“Some folks in the quarters know I is a conductor and I be leavin’ that very night. So they wait till Young Massa sleepin’ off his whiskey. Then they unchain young Mary and carry her to where we be waitin’.
“I almost said no to takin’ her coz she hurt so bad. I don’ think she make it. But I jus’ couldn’t leave that po’ child behind, so I hide her under the sacks with the rest of the folks.
“We been on the road three nights ’fore I know ’bout a station where we can stop . . . and Mary be havin’ a hard time of it. Many a time I think she already dead. But I come to find she breathin’, so we keep on.
“Suh, that girl been through a powerful hard time, but she tough. I know it a lot to ask, but I think she needs doctorin’ for a spell before she can go on.”
Joseph looks up at the man.
“I don’ want to burden your family, but I gots to go on with these folks come dark. I sure ’preciate if you could let Mary rest here for a while. I be comin’ back in a week or so to take her on down the road.”
After the conductor finished his tale, Joseph stared at his hands for several minutes, as if not knowing what to say. Anna came to her father’s side and rested a hand on his shoulder. He looked up at his daughter, a sad smile softening the sharp planes of his face.
“Mary will remain here with my family until she is fit to travel,” said Joseph, his voice full of determination. “You and your people rest here today. I’ll send word to the next station to expect you before dawn tomorrow.”
“Thank you, suh. May the dear Lord bless you and your family for your k
indness.”
“Come on, Anna,” said Joseph, rising from the rough bench he and his daughter had built from a downed cottonwood. “Let’s see what we can do to help your mother in the house. Then we need to dress for morning services. We don’t want to attract attention by missing Reverend Lemmerman’s message.”
Mother, feigning ill, stayed with Mary while Papa and I attended morning services. I know Papa is a capable doctor, but I am not sure his skill is sufficient for this task. If this young woman is to live, it will only be by the grace of God . . .
“I feel like such a fool,” says Lucy, jerking us back into the twenty-first century.
“Luce, I keep telling you,” Marina orders. “Quit making assumptions before we have all the facts. You’re beginning to grate on my nerves . . . just like one of the rookies I have to deal with each day. Gimme a break!”
“I’m sorry, Marina, but it’s like a huge weight is being lifted from my shoulders. I’m beginning to think my family members may not be the monsters I thought. In fact—”
“See?” Marina interrupts. “That’s exactly what I mean. Rookies!”
“Rina, how about a little patience with us rookies?” says Jess kindly. “I, for one, would like to hear more from Anna’s journal. How about the rest of you?”
“Please, Jess, go on,” I encourage while Kelly and Mary Alice nod their agreement.
“Yes, please,” Lucy joins in. “The story is just beginning to catch my interest.”
SICKBED SOUP
1 large chicken
1 white turnip, peeled and cut into chunks
1 yellow onion, cut into chunks
2 parsnips, peeled and cut into slices
1 sweet potato, peeled and cut into chunks
3 carrots, peeled and sliced
5 pieces of fresh dill (if available)
Instructions
1. Put everything into the pot with about 3–4 quarts of water. Make sure chicken is covered.
2. Simmer until chicken can be easily removed from bones and vegetables are tender.
3. Debone chicken and return meat to soup.
October 17, 1861
I have never been so frightened! Poor Mary lay prostrate in our kitchen, barely clinging to life, when I heard the unmistakable sound of approaching danger . . .
As Anna worked in the garden, gathering the last of the fall vegetables, she heard the creak of wheels and the clomp of horses, indicating that a wagon was making its way up to Locust Hill. She immediately put down her basket and ran to the edge of their small orchard to inform her father that visitors were on the way.
She needn’t have bothered, for Joseph had apparently also heard the wagon and was striding toward the house. Having provided shelter for fugitives in the past, the Simmons family was well aware of the importance of keeping their activities secret.
Putting a finger to his lips, Joseph quickly spanned the gap between himself and his daughter. “Anna,” Joseph whispered, “go into the house and help your mother move our guest to the safe room.”
“But, Papa,” Anna protested, “you said yourself Mary shouldn’t budge until—”
“It can’t be helped. Now do as I say, child!”
Feeling the sting of her father’s reprimand, Anna hurried into the kitchen through the back door. A large built-in cupboard was already standing open—providing access to the tiny room built in the wall behind it. Anna’s mother was nowhere in sight.
“Mother?” Anna whispered hoarsely. The young woman on the makeshift bed stirred.
“Anna!” answered Emily, slipping quietly from the darkened space behind the cupboard. “Quick—help me get Mary over here.”
Through the open windows, Anna could hear her father’s friendly greeting.
“Hello, Mrs. Olsen! Matthew! What a surprise! To what do we owe the pleasure of your company at Locust Hill this fine afternoon?” boomed Joseph in his deep baritone.
Anna let out a deep sigh of relief at her father’s words. Their visitors were friends of the family. She had feared the wagon might contain a slave owner or one of his detectives searching for the fugitives.
“Hurry, child! We don’t have much time! I’ve spread some quilts on the floor of the room for Mary to lie down on.”
“But, Mother, it’s only Mrs. Olsen and Matthew. Surely it’s not necessary—”
“Anna, this is no time to argue with me. I’ll explain later. But now I need your help!”
Supporting the young woman on each side, mother and daughter half walked and half carried the injured slave across the kitchen floor.
“I loathe having to do this to you, dear,” Emily whispered to the barely conscious woman. “But, for your safety and ours, we can’t take a chance someone will betray us. Remember, Mary, you must remain absolutely silent until we come for you. Do you understand?”
Her face twisted in pain, the young woman weakly nodded her assent.
Just as the women reached the opening to the hiding place with the frightened fugitive, Emily stiffened.
“What’s wrong, Mother?”
“Listen,” she said, inclining her head. “That surely couldn’t be the wagon leaving, could it?” Before Anna had the opportunity to reply, she heard the creak of the front door and the familiar sound of her father’s step in the front hall.
“Papa?” called Anna.
“Yes, it’s me. And, gratefully, I’m alone.” Joseph stepped into the kitchen, carrying a cast-iron kettle. He placed it on the stove and quickly crossed the room to help his wife and daughter with Mary.
“The Olsens are gone?” asked Emily, as she and her husband gently led the young woman back to the cot.
“Yes, but unfortunately, I had to enter into a bit of deception to accomplish it.”
Emily supported Mary as she carefully lowered herself to the cot. Anna helped her father slide the cupboard back into place, once again successfully concealing the tiny room.
“Well, Joseph, do tell,” said Emily as she handed a cup of water to Mary. “What is this bit of deception you passed on to dear Audrey Olsen?”
“Mrs. Olsen was understandably concerned about your health after learning that you had missed Sunday services.”
“So this must be her famous Sickbed Soup,” said Emily, lifting the lid from the kettle Joseph had placed on the stove. The heady scent of chicken and fresh vegetables filled the kitchen. “Audrey is such a dear and, I might add, a gifted cook.”
“She is a kind soul,” agreed Joseph, “and sorely wanted to check on you. I told her I hadn’t reached a firm diagnosis, and there was a chance you might be contagious.”
“Oh, Papa!” exclaimed Anna. “You didn’t!”
“I did. But as I said, I truly hated to deceive her.”
“Don’t worry, dear. I’ll visit the Olsens in a day or two to put Audrey’s mind at ease . . . and extol the healing properties of her recipe.”
“Well, Mrs. Olsen’s soup will be just the thing to help you regain your strength, Mary,” said Joseph, bending down to check his patient’s progress. “Do you think you might be able to take a few sips?”
The young woman offered a nod and weak smile in reply.
“Yes,” said Emily, putting the soup on the rear of the stove to warm, “the Lord always provides, doesn’t he?”
Mother is right—the Lord always provides. But in this case, I wish His provision would have arrived with a bit less drama. Later Papa and I talked about why we couldn’t let the Olsens in on the secret. With so many of the fugitives’ lives at stake, and our own, too, Papa says the fewer that know, the better.
“And I thought there was a lot of drama in my life,” Marina states. “Cops have nothing on these guys.”
“Speaking of your chosen profession,” says Lucy, “can we start putting the pieces together?”
“Whaddaya mean? It’s obvious. The Simmons were helping fugitive slaves. The space behind the wall was built as an emergency hideout. Case closed.”
“Thank you, I
nspector Holmes,” I tease.
“So this whole rookie thing was just a ruse so you could solve the mystery yourself,” Kelly reasons before Marina grasps the playful dig in my comment. “Figures, Favazza.”
“Wrongo once again, Kelly Belly. You, too, Lizzie. You guys have got to realize that some things are better left to the professionals. Trust me; in the long run, I saved you a lot of headaches.”
“You are hopeless!” Kelly says, shaking her head.
“I know, and that’s why you all love me so much.”
After a round of indignant groaning, eye rolling, and a shower of balled-up napkins, Lucy brings us back to the subject at hand. “So Joseph and Emily Simmons were abolitionists. All the way out here in Nebraska. That possibility didn’t even occur to me when we found that room.”
“It sounds like they may have been part of the Underground Railroad,” Jess guesses. “That would explain the chains and manacles. They probably came from fugitive slaves. They would have to keep them hidden in case their home was searched.”
Marina frowns. “Without a warrant? I don’t think so.”
“When it came to conflict between abolitionists and the proponents of slavery, civil rights didn’t mean a whole lot.”
“So, Jess, tell us,” says Kelly. “Which child did a report on this subject? You know way too much for having just a casual interest.”
“Actually, all the kids did a unit on the Civil War and the conflict over slavery. But the Underground Railroad really caught Sarah’s interest. She chose it as the topic for a research paper last spring. I can’t wait to tell her that Locust Hill may have been a station.”
“Station?” asks Mary Alice. “I didn’t think the Underground Railroad was a real railroad.”
“It wasn’t, but it functioned much like one,” explains Jess. “Fugitive slaves were referred to as freight. Conductors were those who escorted them—either on foot, in wagons, or by boat. And safe houses along the escape route, like Locust Hill, were called stations. Joseph would have been the stationmaster.”
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