Every Hill and Mountain

by Deborah Heal

  Nelson barreled past him where he stood at the doorway. “I made Joseph go on home,” he said.

  Ned blinked. He went to the ledge on the wall by Mama and Pap’s cornhusk bed and got the penny necklace. Lady Liberty was still shiny, and he’d have to remember to keep her polished like Mama had. He looked at it for a moment and then thrust it into his pocket.

  “Hurry, Nelson,” Ned said. “Grab the blanket and let’s—”

  Something bashed into the back of his head, and he fell to the floor. He watched through a blood-red haze as Sheriff Dobbs stepped over him and aimed his shotgun squarely on Nelson. “Tie him,” he said, and Ned realized other men were there crowding into the cabin. He felt himself being hauled to his feet, and a blinding pain streaked through his head, causing everything to go black for a bit.

  They tied him to the back of a horse with a length of rope. When the horse took off, Ned stumbled but remained standing, surprised to find he could trot along, although each step made it feel like someone was chopping at his head with an axe. He tried to see where Nelson was, but the other horses were in the way, and blood kept dripping into his eyes.

  It wouldn’t be long now. There were plenty of good hanging trees in the woods behind the barns. And then his legs went boneless, and he couldn’t trot anymore. He felt himself being dragged over rough ground, and then the blackness came again.

  “I’ve lost him.” Abby clicked on the controls but it was no use. They were back in the present and the houses were doing their slideshow again.

  “What do you mean?” Kate asked.

  “The lock on Ned. Do you think because he passed out that had anything to do with it?”

  “Maybe. Try again.”

  Abby looked at John and grinned. Sometime during their time-surfing, Uncle Henry had fallen asleep in his chair and was leaning against John’s shoulder.

  “Sorry,” she said. “It’s all gone. The church isn’t even available.”

  “Did he pass out, or did he die?” Kate asked.

  “If they’re going to lynch them, I don’t think I can watch,” Patty Ann said.

  Ryan snorted. “They didn’t lynch them—at least not Nelson. Obviously, Henry and Alex wouldn’t be here if they had.”

  “That took place in November of 1849,” Abby said. “And Ned was living at Hickory Hill when the 1850 census was taken.”

  John looked at her and then over to Patty Ann. “Do you think you can get us back into Miss Granger’s house? If we had a little time, I’m sure we could find out more.”

  “I can try. It depends on how she’s feelin’. But…” Patty Ann looked apologetically at Brother Greenfield.

  “You all go on,” he said. “No sense me scaring the poor woman with my big, old black self. Only you have to promise to tell me what you find out.” He grinned and leaned over to shake the old man sleeping against John’s shoulder. “I’ve got to get Uncle Henry home anyway.”

  “Okay,” Patty Ann said. “I’ll go back and—”

  “Wait,” Abby said. “Aren’t we forgetting something?”

  “The library and courthouse,” Kate said.

  Ryan looked at his watch in horror. “If we don’t hurry, they’ll close and we’ll have to spend another night in this God-forsaken place.” He had the grace to look embarrassed. “Oh. Sorry.”

  “But maybe we won’t need any of that. We could just time—”

  “We have to go anyway, Kate,” Abby said. “Remember? We never checked out of the motel.”

  Chapter 19

  By the time they had retrieved their stuff from the Shawnee Chief and convinced the desk clerk not to charge them for a second day, it was three o’clock. That meant they had only two hours to find any useful information.

  They went to the library first. A woman carrying an oversized tote bag was unlocking the door of the tidy brick building. She turned to smile a welcome as they walked up the sidewalk. “I hope you weren’t waiting long.” She removed a paper sign from the door that said Back at 3:00.

  “No,” Abby said. “We just got here.”

  “I had to slip out for a minute to drop my dog off at the vet. Lucy’s got a nasty abscessed tooth that needs pulling.”

  “That’s too bad,” Kate said. “My mom’s pug had the same thing.”

  “You’re not from Shawneetown, are you?”

  “No,” Kate said, “We’re not.”

  John hurried to get the door, and the woman flipped on the lights as she passed through it and went to set her things on the counter. “Now,” she said. What can I do for you? I’m guessing you’re not here to check out a book.”

  Abby pulled her steno pad and pen out of her purse and the librarian’s eyes latched onto them. A smile bloomed on her face. “Oh, I get it! Although I’m surprised the Gazette sent four of you. Then again it’s not every day we get a famous author here in Shawneetown. But I’m sorry, you’ve got the time wrong. The book signing isn’t until seven p.m., and even then, I thought it would only be polite to give her time to catch her breath before she got interviewed. You’re welcome to stay until then, of course. Did they tell you? She was born just over in Eldorado. She didn’t grow up around here, but her dad’s folks lived in the hills near Equality.”

  At last the barrage of words came to an end, but before Abby or anyone else could correct her mistaken idea, the librarian had turned her attention to her tote bag on the counter. “I brought refreshments,” she said. “And I found the cutest paper plates with strawberries on them at the Dollar Store.”

  Abby suddenly realized she was the only one still standing there and wondered when the others had slunk away. “Over here,” John called softly. They stood looking at a bookshelf against the far wall. She gave the librarian a little wave and hurried over to them.

  “Is this the genealogy department?”

  “Heck, we found the entire history department,” John said with a grin.

  Ryan snorted. “All six shelves.”

  Kate sighed in disappointment. “Let’s go check out the courthouse, then.”

  “Hey, don’t look so glum, roomie,” Abby said. “It’s small, but who knows what clues we’ll unearth. No doubt the local historians have already done a lot of the sleuthing.”

  Abby scanned the shelves. “Ah, good. Here’s an obituary index and several cemetery indices. Here, hold these.” Abby pulled them and started loading Kate’s arms. “And quite a few church histories. Good.”

  “There’s one about our famous General Lawler,” Kate said. “On the third shelf.”

  “I think I’ve heard about all I can take about him,” Ryan said.

  “Yes, but since he’s related to the Grangers…,” Abby said.

  “And here’s one about the history of Shawneetown,” John said. “And Gallatin County. And several histories for the surrounding counties.”

  “This is going to take hours,” Kate said. “And we still have to get to the courthouse.”

  “Don’t be silly, Kathryn,” Ryan said. “Obviously, we won’t read the books in their entirety.”

  “Just scan their indices,” John said.

  “Oh. Right,” Kate said.

  They carried the books to a table, divided them up, and started thumbing through indices and tables of contents. None of them listed any Greenfields.

  The librarian rushed up to where they sat, smoothing her hair. “I am so sorry. I got everything set up. I hope our author likes chocolate chip cookies. I see you found something to keep you occupied while you wait. Looks like you have an interest in history. That’s wonderful. Let me find you something a little more interesting. I’ve got a book on the river pirates down at Cave-In-Rock, and Elizabethtown has an interesting history. Did you know it has the oldest hotel in Illinois?”

  “Actually,” Kate said. “We’re here to do genealogical research.”

  “Oh. Why didn’t you say so?” She went to the shelf and pulled out two books with industrial green covers from the bottom shelf. “We’ve got both
1840 and 1850 for Gallatin County, Illinois.”

  “The U.S. census,” Kate explained.

  “A transcription of it.”

  “Obviously,” Ryan said.

  “As I said, Ned Greenfield isn’t in the 1840 census, but Mom and I found him in the 1850.” Kate looked in the index and then turned to the page it indicated. “Here it is. I have to say this transcription is easier to read than the original.”

  Abby leaned over her shoulder as Kate pointed to an entry for a household headed by John S. Granger. Beneath his name, Martha A. Granger was listed, then Thomas, Elizabeth, and Mary Granger. Below that were fifteen other individuals with various last names. Kate ran her finger down to Ned Greenfield, born 1834, Hickory Hill, Gallatin, Illinois.

  “This is the Ned Greenfield Mom and I traced back to,” Kate said.

  “Wow. What a large family,” Abby said. “With so many different last names. Were they cousins, or foster children, or what?”

  The librarian chuckled. “I don’t think so. All but the first three children were colored. Including Ned Greenfield. Look.” She pointed to a B in the fourth column. “That stands for black.”

  Kate’s mouth dropped open. And then Abby realized hers had too. She closed it and stared at the librarian.

  “I’ve heard that that mansion on Hickory Hill was part of the Underground Railroad,” the librarian said. “That would explain the huge number listed at that household. Maybe they were on their way north.”

  Abby didn’t want to contradict her, but that theory didn’t make a lot of sense. No one would report runaway slaves to the census taker. People risked huge fines and even imprisonment for aiding and abetting them. Charlotte Miles had been well aware of the dangers she faced in her work in Miles Station.

  The librarian smiled kindly at Kate. “Sorry. This is the wrong Ned Greenfield, honey.”

  “Obviously, this is Brother Greenfield’s relative,” Ryan said and then barked out a laugh. “You should see your face, Kathryn. You’re as white as a ghost.” He laughed harder. “That was even funnier than I realized. White as a ghost! Don’t worry,” he said, taking her arm. “You’re as white as I am.”

  Kate blinked and then turned to frown at her fiancé. “That’s not it at all, Ryan. There would be absolutely nothing in the world wrong with having African blood in the family. I’m just disappointed this is a dead end.”

  Chuckling, he put an arm around her shoulders. “Okay, Kathryn. Maybe we’ll find something at the courthouse. And if not we’ll go back to Chicago and start all over again.”

  Abby smiled at the librarian. “Thanks for your help.”

  “Keep in mind that sometimes slaves took on the surnames of their masters. Your Ned Greenfield may have owned this slave at one time.”

  “Is that supposed to make me feel better?” Kate muttered when they were out of earshot.

  It wouldn’t, Abby thought. But it might be the connection they were looking for.

  Chapter 20

  Signs posted in the courthouse led them down narrow halls, past the courtroom, and eventually to the Office of Records. The clerk at the front desk was eating a late lunch. Or early dinner. She wiped her mouth and smiled apologetically up at them.

  “So there is a Mickey D in town?” John asked, looking with interest at the white and yellow McDonald’s bag on her desk.

  The woman grinned. “Sorry. If you’ve got a hankerin’ for a Big Mac, you’ll have to go over to Kentucky for it. What can I do for you?”

  Kate explained once again about her genealogy project, and the woman abandoned her hamburger and led them to a room behind her office. The walls were covered with floor-to-ceiling bookshelves, each packed to near capacity with books of various sizes and colors. In the center of the room a slanted chest-high counter was provided for those who wished to study the books.

  “All the volumes in this room are indices,” she explained. “They’ll tell us which record books to look in next door. Let’s start with births. What year are we looking for?”

  “I don’t really know for sure. I mean, I thought I did. My mom and I traced my family back to a Ned Greenfield. In the 1850 census his birth date was listed as 1834.”

  “Okay, that’s a start,” the clerk said.

  “But now I know he’s not the right Greenfield, so I have no idea on the birth date.”

  “Well, let’s see what we can find. Ned is usually a nickname for Edward, Edmund, Edgar, or even Edwin.” She pulled a faded gray ledger from a shelf, plunked it down on the counter, and thumbed to the G section. The only name that came close was Greely. She looked next in the Index of Gallatin County Marriages, and Abby’s eye zeroed in on an entry for a Nebo Greenfield and she felt a rush of excitement. Maybe his given name had been entered wrong. Only on closer examination, she saw the date was 1923. If he was related there was no way to see how.

  Nevertheless, Abby got out her steno pad to copy the information in case it led to other Greenfields. But before she could, the clerk whisked the ledger away to make room for the Index of Deaths, the Index of Criminal Records, and three others for which Abby didn’t catch the names. In some, the name Greenfield was entirely absent. In others it was associated with a completely wrong date. None of the variations of Ned showed up as a given name.

  The clerk saw Kate’s long face. “Don’t give up. We’re not done yet.” She lay another huge volume down on the counter and opened it to the G’s. “This is the Soundex Index. It will give us surnames with variant spellings. Clerks in years past were notorious for their creative spelling of people’s names. Of course, sometimes they had to come up with their own spelling if the person they were recording was illiterate.”

  The Soundex Index listed Greenfeld, Grenfell, and Grenfold as variants of Greenfield, but none of them were Edwards, Edmunds, Edgars, or even Edwins, much less Neds.

  “It’s so frustrating,” Kate said. “The 1850 census shows him right here in Gallatin County.”

  “Let’s check the Registry of Deeds. If he or his family owned property we can find him that way.”

  They struck out completely for any property deeds for the years 1800 through 1899.

  “Okay, so much for our theory that the Greenfields once owned Hickory Hill,” Abby said. “What about rentals? Would there be any kind of record for that?”

  “Hickory Hill?” the clerk asked.

  “Yes,” Kate said. “The census record says Ned Greenfield was born at Hickory Hill, 1834, Gallatin County.”

  The clerk looked at Kate for a long moment. Then she whisked the ladder over to the far bookshelf and quickly scaled it. Taking a book from the top shelf, she came down the ladder and placed it on the counter and then looked at each of them in turn. “It’s probably not in here, but…well, it wouldn’t hurt to look, would it?” After a while, she snapped it shut and said, “Wait right here.”

  After only a minute or two, she returned with an ancient-looking ledger. They got a brief glimpse of the scarred leather cover, a shade of brown that reminded Abby of her dad’s cordovan dress shoes. A musty smell wafted out when the clerk opened it. Pushing her glasses into place on her nose, she bent and studied the pages of hand-written information closely.

  “There,” she said at last and pushed it over in front of Kate. “It’s faint. But look closely. John Granger registered a baby born in his household. Ned Greenfield, born 1834, to Mariah, his cook at Hickory Hill. The father’s name is Charles.”

  Kate peered at the page for a moment, and then holding her place in the book, closed it on her hand to see the title: Slave Registry, Gallatin County. She looked up at the clerk.

  “They were indentured servants,” Abby said. “Not slaves, right? After all, Illinois is a free state. It always has been.”

  “You didn’t know?” the clerk said. “There were slaves in southern Illinois as early as 1719. The French brought them—”

  “We’re not concerned with what the French may or may not have done before Illinois became a sta
te in 1818,” Ryan said.

  “Well, yes,” the clerk said cautiously, “Illinois came in as a free state. The state constitution forbade slavery. And, yes, most of them were indentured servants. Technically. But since they were held indefinitely—in perpetuity—you’d have to say it was slavery.”

  “Most of them?” Abby said.

  “Well, at the salt works…there they had outright slavery. You see, salt was so important to the whole economy—of the state and the nation. Why, at one time, one-fifth the state’s revenues came from salt, and—”

  “But the Constitution? What about the Constitution?” Abby realized she was sputtering and tried to calm down.

  “Well, you see, the state of Illinois paid the United States Treasury thousands of dollars annually for a special exemption to use slave labor at the salt works. How else would they have been able to keep production up?”

  “So you’re saying John Granger owned Ned Greenfield?” John said. “He and the others were his slaves?”

  “That can’t be right,” Ryan said. “Everyone’s been telling us Granger’s house was a stop on the Underground Railroad.”

  “Maybe he changed his opinion about slavery later,” the clerk said.

  Abby couldn’t think of what to say, and Kate looked shell-shocked.

  Fortunately, John managed to smile and thank the clerk for her help. “We’ll let you get back to your lunch. And sorry. It’s going to be cold by now.”

  “Not a problem.”

  They left the records department and went single file back down the narrow hall. When they came to the courtroom, this time the door was open. The juror boxes were empty and the judge had already left, but lawyer-types in summer-weight suits were still there gathering up their files at the tables for the defense and prosecution.

  Abby was about to continue walking past when she noticed that what she had thought was the wall behind the judge’s bench was slowly rolling up like a huge white projection screen. A courtroom official was working a control switch in the far corner of the room.