Cragbridge Hall, Book 1: The Inventor's Secret Hardcover

by Chad Morris

  “None of them look quite right,” Derick said. His eyes wandered for a moment more, searching. “I think that’s him,” he said, pointing to a black man leaning against the wall of the train station. Derick moved the perspective of the Bridge to better see the man. He was tall and strong. Years as a slave must have built some decent muscle. His thick, wiry hair stood up several inches. Abby guessed he was in his late teens or early twenties. He wore a red shirt, a sailor hat, and a black scarf tied around his neck.

  Abby eyed the group of black men waiting to board the train, then Douglass. “What’s he doing here?”

  “I think he’s going to get on that train,” Derick guessed.

  “Then why is he waiting by the wall?” Abby asked. “And where are his bags?”

  “I don’t know,” Derick said. “But this is the day he escapes from slavery, right? Maybe he’s just nervous.”

  Abby tried to imagine what it would be like to try to escape from slavery. She’d read enough to know that when slaves were caught, they were whipped and beaten, sometimes to the point of being killed. They were valuable property, so they weren’t usually beaten to death unless a master wanted to use a slave as an example to scare the others.

  Abby saw determination in Frederick’s eyes. He knew the risks, and he was trying to escape anyway. He looked calm and collected, but every now and then, Abby thought she caught a twitch in the leg, or shift of the eye that betrayed some nervousness. In his shoes, she would have been terrified.

  Abby turned around to survey more of the situation. Her eye caught a different black man approaching a uniformed man at the ticket window.

  “One ticket please, sir,” the black man said. “North-bound to Wilmington.”

  “Papers,” the man in uniform said gruffly, holding out a hand.

  The black man quickly produced some folded papers. Abby guessed they were proof that he was free and not a slave. Papers like that were a precaution against escaping slaves. The train station employee read part of the papers, then said, “It says here you have a scar on your left leg.”

  The black man quickly lifted his pant leg, revealing a long, pink scar that ran from behind his knee to a few inches above his ankle.

  “And another scar on your right arm, just above the elbow,” the man in uniform said. The black man rolled up his sleeve. “And you have whipping scars on your back?” The man raised his shirt to show an array of grooves and lines.

  Abby gasped. She could hardly imagine the whip and pain it would have taken to make such scars. The man had passed all the tests, so the worker finally took the black man’s money.

  As the worker leaned out of his window to give the man his ticket, he noticed Frederick. “Can I help you?”

  “I don’t know yet, sir,” Frederick responded. “I have a friend delivering my bags. I’d better not buy a ticket until I know I can travel.”

  “The train leaves in minutes,” the man said.

  “Yessir. I hope he hurries,” Frederick said.

  Frederick waited for the man to leave his window and go back to his work station. Then he pulled a slip of paper from his pocket. Abby circled around to get a better look.

  “Pause it here, Derick,” Abby said. The image froze.

  She looked closely at the document. It was a sailor’s paper, which made sense with the way Frederick was dressed. The emblem of an American Eagle graced the top of the page, making the whole document look official.

  “What’s he looking at?” Derick asked.

  “His identification papers, I think,” Abby said.

  “Are they really his? I mean, if he’s escaping, there’s no way he has his own papers, right?”

  “They’re definitely real,” Abby said, reading over Frederick Douglass’s shoulder. “But they aren’t his. Look at this,” she said, motioning for Derick to join her. “I don’t think he fits this description.” She pointed to a few lines on the page.

  “No, he doesn’t,” Derick said. “Douglass was a mulatto—his mom was black, but his dad was white. That’s why his skin isn’t as dark as some of the others, but the papers describe someone with a lot darker skin. Definitely not Frederick’s papers.”

  “If that conductor looks over his papers like he did that last guy’s, he’s busted,” Abby added.

  The whistle blew. More and more people hugged their relatives or shook hands with their business partners and said their good-byes. The lines at the entrances of the train grew longer. Frederick looked up at the clock on top of the train station.

  “I still don’t get it,” Abby said. “Is he going to miss the train?”

  “What, did I see this before you?” Derick snapped. “All we can do is watch and find out.”

  The train whistle blew again.

  A horse and carriage pulled up to the side of the road beside the station. The driver leapt from the seat and tethered his horses. He pulled two bags out of his coach and ran toward the train station.

  The train lurched forward, the huge heavy machine toiling to get any momentum.

  The man from the carriage brought the bags to Frederick. “Perfect timing,” Frederick whispered. He then looked at the man who sold tickets.

  “You can buy a ticket on the train,” the man said.

  “Thank you sir,” Frederick said and ran toward the train.

  “Have a nice trip,” the carriage driver said. “And you’re welcome.”

  The last of the crowd waved to those at the station and jumped onto the train. Frederick hurried to catch it, his strong body moving quickly—Abby couldn’t run that fast while carrying bags. As the train reached the end of the platform, Frederick jumped onto the train car. He had to lean on the handrail to keep from falling back off. A few other latecomers jumped on behind him.

  Derick flicked his fingers, ordering the Bridge to follow Frederick. The runaway slave set down his bags and waited for his turn with the conductor, who was dealing with the last-minute rush. Frederick asked to buy a ticket. Busy, the man quickly glanced at his paper.

  “Sailor, huh?” the conductor said, speaking loudly over the sound of the train.

  “Yes sir,” Frederick said. “I know ships from stem to stern, and from keelson to cross-trees.” The man nodded and took Frederick’s money.

  A moment later, he handed over a ticket. “We appreciate our sailors and the free trade they encourage,” the conductor said. There was no smile, no ‘have a good trip,’ from him, but Frederick was on the train.

  “He did that on purpose,” Abby said. “He waited until the train was moving so they wouldn’t look as closely at his papers.”

  “Yeah,” Derick said. “And the book Grandpa gave me said that Frederick worked repairing ships, so that’s how he knew how to talk like a sailor. This guy is smart.”

  They watched as Frederick walked through the car filled with other dark-skinned travelers. They probably weren’t allowed anywhere else on the train. She watched as Frederick stored his baggage and found a seat.

  Frederick looked across the car, then immediately turned his head the other way. He must have seen someone he recognized. He turned slightly and tilted his sailor hat. Abby watched as a man farther down the railcar gazed at him for a few seconds, then looked away.

  After several minutes, another conductor entered the car and moved up the aisle. Abby’s heart skipped.

  “Papers and ticket,” the man said. Apparently, this would be a more thorough check. These train conductors did not take chances.

  Abby’s heart pounded just watching the incident. The passenger closest to the conductor quickly produced his ticket and papers. The next passenger had them out before the man asked for them. Everyone seemed eager to prove their freedom. As the conductor moved along, he scowled and asked to see scars or birthmarks, checking each passenger against his or her description.

  When the conductor approached, Frederick did not produce his papers right away like the others had. He sat calmly. Abby wondered if she could ever act so calm un
der pressure. She saw something change in the conductor. His brow straightened, and he spoke coolly. Maybe the sailor uniform made the difference.

  “I suppose you have your free papers,” the man said.

  “No, sir,” Frederick responded.

  What? Of course he had papers. Abby had seen them a few minutes ago. Frederick continued, “I never carry my free papers to sea with me.”

  The man said, “But you have something to show that you are a freeman, haven’t you?” His voice sounded less condemning than when he’d asked the others.

  “Yes, sir,” Frederick answered. “I have a paper with the American eagle on it, and it will carry me around the world.” Frederick reached inside his pocket and produced his paper.

  The man glanced at the paper and then moved on.

  Abby exhaled. She hadn’t realized she’d been holding her breath.

  “He’s good,” Derick said. “Cool under pressure.”

  “Yeah,” Abby said, as she watched him situate himself again so the other man on the train couldn’t recognize him.

  Derick fast-forwarded the scene, making sure Douglass traveled safely.

  “But I don’t get it,” Abby admitted. “That was amazing, and I’m glad he became free, but I didn’t see any signs or clues to Grandpa’s secret.”

  “Me, neither,” Derick admitted.

  13

  To the Office

  I’d suggest we watch it again, but after as many times as we’ve seen it, I don’t think it would do any good,” Derick said, motioning to the image of Frederick Douglass riding a train to freedom.

  “I know. We’ve watched it so many times, I think I almost have it memorized,” Abby said. “We’re not on the right track.”

  “Are you trying to make a train joke?” Derick asked.

  “No. You know what I meant.” Suddenly an image appeared in Abby’s contact lens. Abby Cragbridge, please report to the front office. Thank you.

  “Huh,” Abby said. “I just got called to the office.”

  “Me, too,” Derick said. “It’s probably about missing class today.”

  The two of them followed their guidance systems to the office. As soon as they stepped inside, they knew it was about something more than their missing class. The first thing they saw wasn’t the secretaries busily typing and speaking on their syncs. It wasn’t the student aides, filing digital documents and entering some sort of reminder on the bulletin screen—something about the lunch menu switching.

  Instead, they saw police officers, who stood as Derick and Abby came in. One was a husky woman dressed in a navy blue uniform, hair pulled back into a tight ponytail. The other, a thin, but athletically built man, his hair buzzed short.

  “Are you Abby and Derick Cragbridge?” the female officer asked. Her voice was smooth and professional. She logged onto her rings and flicked her fingers. Abby guessed she was recording their conversation.

  “Yes,” Derick said. Abby nodded.

  “Please come with us,” she said, and pointed toward a door along the back wall of the office. She led the way, the twins walking behind. The man with the buzz followed. When they were all inside, he closed the door.

  “We have a few questions to ask you,” the man with the short hair said. Abby mentally nicknamed him Buzz.

  “Have you found our grandpa and parents?” Abby asked.

  The police officers looked at each other for a moment. “Where were you at 12:30 today?” the woman asked.

  “We were either here, or we were at my grandfather’s house,” Derick said. “I didn’t look at the clock. Why?”

  The woman typed something—maybe making a few notes. “And what were you doing at your grandfather’s house?”

  “We were looking for him,” Abby responded.

  “Why did you think that he was missing?” Buzz asked.

  “We already told you all of this,” Derick said. “Well, not you, but some other police officers.”

  The man and woman glanced at each other again. “And how did you meet up with these other officers?” the woman asked.

  “I synced up with BPD,” Abby said, “and they met us at the house.”

  Buzz took a step closer. “Can I sync up with you and see your log?”

  “Sure,” Abby said, turning on her rings. In a moment, she checked the list of her previous syncs with the officers watching. “Here it is,” she said, highlighting an entry.

  “The time matches up,” Buzz said, reading the log from the side. “Sync up with the BPD again, would you?”

  Abby obeyed, and a moment later, viewed a man with short, spiky hair. “BPD,” the man said. “How can I help you?”

  “Hello, Dave,” Buzz said. “We’re just asking someone here a quick question.” He turned to Abby. “Was this the man who you spoke to?”

  “No,” Abby said. “It was a woman.”

  The husky woman officer made a few additional notes with her fingers. “Would you describe her and the other officers you met at your grandfather’s house?” she asked.

  “No offense,” Derick said, “But these seem to be really weird questions. Shouldn’t we be focusing on our missing parents and grandpa?”

  Buzz lifted a hand. “We’ll need to know all about that in a moment, but first please describe these people you spoke with at your grandfather’s house.”

  “I don’t understand,” Abby said.

  The woman exhaled slowly. “They weren’t police officers. Whoever they were, they put up an elaborate façade to fool you. We didn’t hear from you at all. Our guess is that someone intercepted the call because they were expecting it. They must have some pretty state-of-the-art gear to do that. We didn’t hear about your grandfather’s disappearance until a neighbor called it in. They just wanted to know why the police—who apparently weren’t police—had been there.”

  Abby’s mind was swimming. Who had she spoken to?

  Buzz stepped in. “We’ve studied the public satellite footage of your grandfather’s house, and we were able to identify you, but not the officers. They were all very good at keeping their heads covered and never looking up.”

  “Then who was the big guy with thick eyebrows and a flat nose that took my locket?” Abby asked. “He wore the same kind of uniform as the rest. He promised they’d find my family. He said they’d keep the whole thing quiet, and I wasn’t going to hear about it on the news. Who were they?”

  “That is a very good question,” Buzz said.

  “And you’re definitely going to hear about this on the news,” the woman added.

  14

  The Armoire

  I can’t believe this!” Derick said, walking slowly down the hall to nowhere in particular. “This thing just keeps getting bigger and bigger. Grandpa’s secret has to be a pretty big deal if someone has kidnapped him and our parents, and pretended to be police officers.”

  “They wanted our lockets,” Abby said, following her brother. “And I gave mine to them.” She knew she had made a mistake.

  Derick didn’t speak for a moment. “It’s over now,” he finally said. “With the info we just gave the police, they’ll nail them.”

  Abby wanted to believe him. She wanted to think that all they’d have to do was hold tight and everything would work out, but something inside her knew it wasn’t true.

  “No,” she said. “We can’t depend on them at all. Remember how Grandpa said that no police or government was going to solve this? We have to do it. Now that they have my locket, I think we need to move faster. They’ll be trying to find the secret too.”

  “It’s like a race,” Derick said.

  “And if Grandpa’s right, the stakes are pretty high.”

  “But we have no idea what to do next.”

  Abby logged onto her rings and began a search.

  “What are you looking for?” Derick asked.

  “I’m not sure, but I thought it wouldn’t hurt to look for references about Frederick Douglass and freedom.” She searched the result
s for a minute. “But there are tons of hits. He wrote a lot of antislavery stuff and gave lots of speeches.”

  “Wait a second,” Derick said, his eyes going wide. “Let’s go back to the Bridge.” He changed direction and walked quickly. Abby was only two steps behind. “I just remembered something. I think Frederick Douglass once talked about a different kind of freedom—one that had to do with books.”

  “Books? That would certainly fit Grandpa’s clue, but I still don’t get it,” Abby confessed.

  They arrived at a Bridge lab, opened the metal door, and stepped inside. Derick searched through the Bridge’s logged events. “I feel dumb for not remembering it before. Watch this.” With a quick flick of the finger, he started another scene.

  A woman sat writing on a small chalkboard, with a black boy standing a few feet away. She turned the board around to reveal the word ant. The black boy struggled but eventually sounded the word out. They repeated the process over and over with words sun, fall, work, and the hardest: plant.

  “That’s Mrs. Auld,” Derick said. “And the boy is Frederick. This was years before he became free. Mrs. Auld and her husband took on Frederick mostly to play with their boy.”

  They heard the sound of a door opening and closing. A large man with dark hair and a receding hairline entered the room. The hair on the sides of his head was matted with sweat, and he rubbed his eyes with one hand. He looked like he was about to speak to his wife, but then he watched as young Frederick learned small words.

  It only took a moment before he interrupted her. “You do not teach him,” the man said, his voice shrill and commanding. Derick and Abby both winced at the man’s tone.

  “Why not dear?” Mrs. Auld asked. “He is doing quite well.”

  “It is foolish—even wrong—to teach a slave to read,” the man said. “The only thing a slave needs to know is to obey his master—to do as he is told. Learning would spoil the best slave in the world. He would be no good to me, and no good to himself. He’d become discontented and unhappy.”