Dear Austin: Letters From the Underground Railroad

by Elvira Woodruff

  I can't think why Darcy should not be allowed to learn to read and why she's got to plead to do it. There's plenty in my class who would plead not to do their schoolwork. I don't know how there can be a law that keeps folks from learning. I wonder at the men who thought up such a law and why they were so determined to keep a young girl from reading the Bible—just because of the color of her skin. It makes no sense, Austin.

  I never heard anybody make a song out of a recipe for flapjacks, and when Darcy started to sing it again, Nelly had to use her handkerchief to -wipe her eyes, on account of Darcy had made “two cups flour and half a cup lard” into the sweetest, saddest song you ever heard.

  Sometimes I can't help thinking about Darcy and Jupiter and how different their lives are from mine, all because of what they look like. I think about the nightmares I've been having, almost every night, and wonder what kind of nightmares Jupe must have.

  Your brother, Levi

  P.S. Miss Amelia wrote down her recipe for teacup pudding, and so I am including it. She says to tell Reuben that if he soaks the raisins in brandy, they will plump up nice.

  July 20, 1853

  Dear Austin,

  Today Possum and I were over at Miller's store waiting for Miss Amelia to do her shopping. The usual bunch of old men were sitting out on the porch talking, chewing, spitting, and puffing on their pipes. When Possum and I sat down on the porch steps to eat our rock candy, we heard Old Man Potts going on about the new coach due in from Richmond.

  “They say it makes twelve miles an hour!” he claimed.

  “Are you sure you're not confusing it with an iron horse?” Mr. Tanner asked.

  “I'm not talking about the railroad, Jeb. I'm talking about a regular coach with four horses. Living, breathing horses.”

  “Not living for long, traveling at twelve miles an hour!” Mr. Tanner snorted. “What's everybody in such a durned hurry for, anyway? They're liable to addle their brains moving at those speeds.”

  “Expecting that one ought to quicken his step,” Old Man Potts said with a nod toward the street. I looked up to see Winston loading a wagon in front of the feed mill.

  “Why is that?” Mr. Tanner asked.

  “Word is that a couple of slave catchers are due in on this coach,” Old Man Potts said. “Andyou know how they hate to return empty-handed.”

  “But he's not a slave,” I spoke up. “Winston is a free man. He has it in writing.”

  Old Man Potts looked over at me and shook his head. “I don't expect those slave catchers will be much interested in writing, son. My guess is they're interested in one thing and that's color. They're looking for black hides.”

  I have to tell you, Austin, I felt my rock candy stick in my throat on hearing those last words of his.

  “You can't blame the plantation owners,” someone else was saying. “What with so many slaves running off, why, it's liable to ruin them.”

  “I still contend it's a sinful business.” Mr. Farber sighed.

  “You're right on half a count,” Old Man Potts said, spitting a wad of juice from his mouth. “It is biuineJo. Those cotton men are only protecting their investments. And with that Fugitive Slave Law passed in ‘50, why, they've got every legal right to take back what belongs to them by law.”

  “They may have the law on their side,” Mr. Farber said, “but the law hasn't stopped the Underground Railroad. And once a slave gets a ticket north on that train, there's no stopping him.”

  Miss Amelia called from inside the store just then for Possum and me to fetch her baskets. All the way home Possum and I kept our eyes on the ground, wandering about this Underground Railroad. Possum even tried putting his ear to the dirt, hoping to hear the iron horse's engine, but he couldn't hear anything excepting dirt, which as you know is pretty quiet.

  I am worried about those slave catchers and wonder why they are looking for slaves above ground and not below. I suspect they are looking for some kind of secret door that leads to the Underground Railroad. I hope they leave Jupiter's pa alone.

  Tomorrow Jupiter and I are going to make up another batch of Reuben's hiccup remedy tea. Possum found an old whiskey flask in his grandpa's attic. We're going to fill it with the tea, and that way I can keep it on me for emergencies. Best be getting to bed, as my lamp is low on oil.

  Your brother, Levi

  July 23, 1853

  Dear Austin,

  I have some news about the Underground Railroad. I found out at dinner that it is not underground at all! And not even a railroad! When I asked Miss Amelia about it, she seemed real surprised. I told her what I had heard at Miller's store and she said that there were no tracks underground and no train! She said that there were just people helping people to freedom. The Underground Railroad is a secret network of folks who use their houses to hide slaves who are running north out of slavery.

  When I told her what Old Man Potts had said about the law being on the side of the slave catchers, Miss Ameha frowned. “Sometimes,” she said, “a body has to follow the laws of their heart. If in your heart you know a law to be bad and to cause suffering, then you must follow the course of good, even if it goes against the law of the land. That is what the men and women who are working to free the slaves are doing.”

  “Women?” I asked, for I was surprised that there would be any women working on this railroad.

  Miss Amelia went on to tell me about a brave “conductor,” a slave named Harriet Tubman. She said this woman was so brave that people call her Moses, like from the Bible. She has a price on her head for taking slaves out of slavery down south and bringing them up north on the Underground Railroad.

  When I asked Miss Amelia how it was she knew so much about this Underground Railroad, she said we had talked enough and the ash bucket needed emptying. That's what she always says when she wants to change the subject. I can't tell you how many times I've had to” empty that ash bucket when it weren't nearly full!

  Later that evening, Possum, Jupiter, and I were sitting up in the hayloft working on our whittling. Darcy Nightingale started to climb the ladder to fetch Jupiter to walk her home. It was a close call, for she almost caught sight of the stick Jupiter is making for her. If it weren't for Possum throwing a horse blanket over Jupiter's lap, Darcy would have - seen it for sure.

  “Ain't no girls allowed up here,” I told her. She huffed and puffed and said she wouldn't bother us. And afore I knew it, she had set herself down in the straw beside the loft window and was humming a tune as she swung her legs over the window ledge.

  Jupiter was helping me with old turnip head. We were trying to get his features to look less vegetable and more human, but we weren't having much success. Darcy started asking all kinds of questions, talking and singing and jabbering away. I finally had to tell her to “hush up.” Just as she did, -we heard the barn owl hoot up in the rafters, and as we all turned to look we saw it swoop down into the barn and snatch up a mouse that was running out of Essie's stall. The mouse was wiggling and struggling to free itself, but it was no match for the death grip of that owl.

  Darcy covered her face with her hands and didn't make a peep after that. She's got a big mouth for a little girl, but I suppose her heart's just as big, especially when it comes to tiny critters.

  I'm sitting at the kitchen table as I write this. And the room is full of our favorite smell. Do you remember what that was? Warm cherry pie! There are four pies cooling in the pie safe. Miss Amelia has taken to baking for Preacher Tully and his old father, who lives with him. Seems she can't bake them just one pie but insists on two and sometimes three! Possum says that maybe Miss Amelia is sweet on the preacher. Either that or she's trying to bake herself into heaven!

  I wish you were here, Austin, so we could finish off one of these pies together the way we used to. Guess I'll just have to work on one alone! I hope Reuben is baking something special for you right now.

  Your about-to-be-grinning brother, Levi

  July 26, 1853

  Dear
Austin,

  The only news I have to tell you is that there's been another robbery in Sudbury! Charlie's blacksmith shed was broken into and some of his best irons were stolen. Charlie's daughter Anna saw the thieves from her bedroom window and woke up the rest of the house. By the time Charlie got to the shed, the thieves had gone. Anna did get a look at them, but she couldn't make out their faces, it being so dark. What she could see, though, was that there were two of them, one tall and the other short.

  Jupiter, Possum, and I have been working on our whittling up in the hayloft. Ever since she saw the barn owl kill that mouse, Darcy hasn't bothered us. She's so afraid of the owl that she won't even step into the barn. When she comes for Jupiter, she stands outside and calls up to him. If we see that she's getting braver and coming closer, we just start hooting and she runs away!

  I was telling Jupiter and Possum what I had found out about the Underground Railroad, and Jupiter's eyes got mighty big. I asked him if he knew any more about it, but he just shrugged as if he didn't. Possum had other things on his mind—namely, worms. When Possum gets on a new subject, hell go on about it for days.

  The subject of worms is what he's been stuck on all week. He said he'd been studying them, and he figures that they're smarter than dogs. I said they weren't. And I went on to say that it would take a mighty dumb person to consider a worm smart.

  Jupiter grinned and pointed to Possum. He was only fooling, but Possum didn't take it that way. He said that neither of us had “the brains God gave a squirrel” and marched off home.

  Possum's got a short fuse, and when he's proved wrong, it's like to blow. I expect he'll get over it in a few days’ time.

  Everybody is jumpier than ever on account of the robbery, and I now sleep with my slingshot under my pillow. I wish the thieves would come around our place and I had a shot at them.

  Your brother, Levi

  July 30, 1853

  Dear Austin,

  Something bad happened yesterday, and it was all my fault. I keep thinking, If only I could take it back. Have you ever felt this way, Austin?

  Sometimes I wish that you weren't clear across the country but rather home with me here in Sudbury. Because sometimes I come upon things that I just can't figure out on my own.

  Jupiter, Possum, and I were out in front of the house having a critters contest. There was frog jumping, turtle crawling, and worm slinking. We had lined all the critters” up and were running races. Most of the contestants were performing admirably, ‘cepting the worms. They kept curling up and didn't seem especially interested in the notion of speed. Anyway, we were watching the worms and waiting for them to straighten out and move when Darcy Nightingale came over from Widow Needly's place to fetch some molasses. She went into the house and came out to wait while Miss Amelia poured the molasses into a jar.

  Darcy was humming as usual, but she looked different somehow, and when I mentioned this she began to grin.

  “Is it her dress, Jupe?” I asked. “Is she wearing a new dress?”

  Jupiter shook his head.

  “Seems like I was born in this old blue linsey-woolsey,” Darcy said. “Miss Pearly complains every time she's got to let it down or out.”

  I stared hard at her, and she started to giggle.

  “It's mah new hair ribbons,” she answered proudly, bringing her hand to her head. That's when I noticed the yellow material tied in little bows all over her head. “Miss Pearly made herself some new curtains yesterday, and she said I could have de scraps that were too small to go in her quilting basket,” explained Darcy.

  “Be still, oh, mah heart!” Possum teased.

  But Darcy didn't pay him any mind. She was beaming with pride when Miss Amelia came out with the molasses and told her how becoming she looked in yellow.

  “It's mah favorite color,” Darcy admitted, “same as buttercups. I fixed myself up special on account of I'm going to pay a visit to mah friend Neddy, -who's feeling poorly with de whooping cough.” She leaned over to show us the little bunch of buttercups she had pinned to the frayed collar of her -worn blue dress.

  Jupiter, Possum, and I just shrugged, not being too impressed with buttercups. Miss Amelia smiled and went back into the house. Darcy stood talking about buttercups and telling us how she was going to pick a bunch for Neddy.

  “Why is it that people always bring flowers when a body takes sick?” Possum asked as he nudged one of the worms with his finger.

  “Or -when a body dies,” I said, looking over at Jupiter, who was lying on his back playing dead.

  “‘Cause buttercups always cheer a body up,” Darcy replied, giving her brother a poke.

  “Not a dead body,” I told her.

  “I'd think a licorice stick could cheer up a live body more than some old buttercups,” Possum said.

  Darcy frowned. “I reckon Neddy would be pleased to git a stick of licorice, but I don't have de penny to buy it with.”

  “Maybeyou could give her something else,” I said.

  Darcy twisted her torn ribbons as she tried to think.

  Jupiter sat up and put his fingers over Darcy's throat. It's what he does when he wants to hear a song.

  “Jupiter's right,” I said. “Why don't you sing Neddy one of your songs?”

  “But she's heard all I know,” Darcy moaned.

  I supposed she was right. Hearing an old song wouldn't be as special as hearing one brand new. We all hung around the porch pondering the situation, when suddenly I had an idea. “Why don't you come on over to Mrs. Simpson's this afternoon around three o'clock? Henry Fenton plays all kinds of tunes on his fiddle for our dancing lessons. All you have to do is sit outside Mrs. Simpson's window and listen. You could make up your own words and even put Neddy in the song if you like.”

  We all agreed that this was a good idea, and Darcy thanked me and said she would be by. So that afternoon, while Margaret Podorsky and I were waltzing beside Mrs. Simpson's window, I heard a familiar voice singing outside.

  Mrs. Simpson heard it too, and she stuck her head out the window to find Darcy Nightingale and her friend Etta May singing along with the music, making up the words as they went.

  “Be off with you now! Scat!” Mrs. Simpson snapped as she slammed the window shut. You would have thought she was shooing away a couple of cats. Darcy and Etta May took off running, but later on when Henry was playing the last reel, I spied a headful of yellow ribbons back under the other window that was still open.

  Mrs. Simpson didn't slam the window shut this time but rather went tearing for the door instead. I tried to warn Darcy, but it was too late, for Mrs. Simpson had gotten ahold of her arm. Etta May was lucky enough to get away and took off running down the street. Henry stopped playing, and we all stood frozen at the open window, watching.

  “This is a respectable house,” Mrs. Simpson fumed as she shook Darcy's arm.

  “I didn't mean no harm,” Darcy tried to explain.

  “The harm is that you are here at all,” Mrs. Simpson told her. “Why, I can't have a pack of pickaninnies hanging around, or proper folks wouldn't let their children come for lessons. So don't let me find you under my windows again. You keep yourself and your kind away from decent folks, or you'll find yourself singing in a cotton field under the shadow of a cat-o-nine-tails, where you belong…”

  Mrs. Simpson went on railing, but I couldn't hear any more of the hateful words she was spitting out. All I could hear was the pounding of my heart as I watched the tears well up in Darcy's eyes. She took notice of me then and dropped her head. The sight of those little yellow ribbons bobbing up and down as she stood trembling afore us filled me with shame.

  I felt my throat tightening as I watched Mrs. Simpson roughly let go of her arm. Darcy turned and began to run, but she wasn't looking where she was going and she tripped in a rut in the street.

  When muddy water from the rut splashed up on her dress, Lester Minter began to snicker. I grabbed him by the shirt and he began to holler. That's when Mrs. Simpso
n came in and pulled us apart.

  After hearing Mrs. Simpsons account of my “attack on Lester,” Miss Amelia's face grew red with embarrassment. I supposed I was in for another round of punishments, but when I explained things to Miss Amelia later at home, she had no words of rebuke for me at all. Instead she seemed real sad, but as sad as Miss Amelia's eyes became, they weren't nothing compared with the misery in Darcy Nightingale's look. You should have seen those eyes, Austin, and those little yellow buttercups on her collar all splattered with mud. I wonder if she can ever forgive me…

  Your brother, Levi

  August 3, 1853

  Dear Austin,

  Things are real quiet here, and there's not much to write you. We had a club meeting yesterday and decided to do some investigating. We went over to Charlie the blacksmith's place to see if we could find any clues to the robbery. Jupiter found an old horseshoe behind the shed, and Possum found a patch of poison ivy just beyond that. He walked smack into it afore he realized what it was. Do you remember how Possum puffs all up whenever he gets into poison? Well, he was so sure he was going to puff up again that we had to call off the investigation.

  The three of us went back to our hayloft to wait for it to happen. We sat around for a good half hour just waiting and watching for Possum's puffin’ to commence. But except for a little itching he looked the same, and we decided to take up our whittling while we waited. Jupiter's stick is almost finished. There is no singing to be heard coming from Widow Needly's summer kitchen, and it don't seem natural.