Read Miss Katie's Rosewood Online
Authors: Michael Phillips
Tags: #FIC042030, #FIC042000, #FIC026000
Miss Katie's Rosewood (14 page)
To pass the time and try to console herself, she had been reading Rob Paxton's letter through again. Suddenly an idea came into her brain like a bolt of lightning.
“Aunt Nelda!” she said excitedly. “Can you take me to the telegraph office?”
“Of course, dear. Have you decided to tell Templeton and Ward what has happened?”
“No, not that,” said Katie, already going for her coat. “I want to send a telegram to someone else.”
“Who?”
“Rob Paxtonâour friend that I told you about . . . the sheriff's deputy.”
“Ah yes . . . the young man from Baltimore.”
“Yes, but he lives in Hanover now. I suppose it's bold, Aunt Nelda,” said Katie, “but I don't know what else to do. Maybe he can tell us what we should do.”
“It is certainly worth trying,” said Katie's aunt, now rising also. “Then afterwards I can show you a little around the city to help us take our minds off it for a while, while we wait to see if there's a reply.”
Sheriff John Heyes left the only decent dining establishment in Hanover, Pennsylvania, after a satisfactory lunch, and walked along the boardwalk back toward his office. As he passed the telegraph office, he heard his name called out from inside.
He stopped and went inside.
“Sheriff, I'm glad I caught you,” said the man behind the counter. “I was just about to come down to your office. I've been wanting to talk to you.”
“What is it, Tim?”
“This just came in for your deputy.”
He handed him the customary yellow envelope containing a telegram.
“For Rob, you say . . . not me?”
“It's to him, all right.”
“Must not be official business, then.”
“Didn't sound like it, Sheriff. Of course, he'll have to tell you about it . . . I can't, you understand.”
“I'll see that he gets it right away.”
“By the way, John,” said the man, “I wanted you to hear this from meâI just got word that my son's going to stay up in New York State for a good long while. Landed him a good job and his family is happy there. You know I built that little new house, figuring I'd move there when my son and his family took over the main house. But that's not going to happen
now, so I've decided to sell my place and move north to join them.”
“You . . . Tim Evans, the original pioneer of Hanover! You can't leave here, Tim!” laughed Heyes. “The town wouldn't know what to do with itself. You were the town's mayor a while back as I recall, long before I moved up here.”
“I was, and I've served six times,” said Evans, “whenever they couldn't find anyone else to take the job!” he added, laughing. “But time marches on, John. I'm not quite ready to retire yet, but I want to be with my family and a good telegraph man can always get work. They're also doing a lot up there with new inventionsâelectricity, pumps, heating systems, ways to heat a house in the winter other than just a fireplace in every roomâpumping heat through pipes through the house from one central fire that will heat the whole place. I'd love to get in on something new like that while I'm still young enough. It's a good time for a change for me. And I need to be near my family.”
“You'd hardly need to work if you sell your spread. What is it . . . a hundred acres?”
“Actually more like two hundred with the old Quaker claim,” replied Evans.
“That's right, I'd forgotten. There's an old house out there, isn't there? Is it still standing?”
“Yeah, the place had been in a Quaker family from back in the days when Pennsylvania was nearly all Quaker. The house and barns aren't in very good shape, but I've tried to keep it in one piece.”
“Three houses on two hundred acresâthat ought to qualify you to get a good price,” said Heyes.
“We'll see. I just hope to find someone who will love the place the way my wife and I loved it before she passed away. We built the new house with our own hands, but now it seems time to let it go. It's one of the hardest things to do in the world, you know, John, letting go of a lifelong dream.”
He glanced toward the sheriff and smiled a melancholy smile. “But I know it's the right thing,” he added. “So . . . that's why I have found myself wondering if perhaps . . . well, I have heard you speak of getting out of the law business and settling down to a quiet life of ranching . . . so I thought it might be just right for you.”
Heyes laughed, but it was obvious that Evans' words had hit something deep inside him.
“You are a shrewd man, Timothy Evans,” he said. “I doubt I could ever meet your price. No one gets rich on a lawman's wages. But the thought of taking off this badge and settling on a spread like yours is tempting indeed. I can't think of anything I'd like better. And that young deputy of mine is sharp enough to take my place. He could probably run against me . . . and win.”
“He never would.”
“I think you're right.”
“He's completely devoted to you, John.”
Heyes nodded, then chuckled lightly. “I suppose he is at that,” he said. “He's a good kid. I'm lucky to have him.”
“So you'll think about it?” persisted Evans.
“I'm not ready to retire yet. But now I don't suppose I'll be able to help thinking about it,” laughed Heyes. “Anybody else know?”
“No,” said Evans. “I don't want this spread around. If I decide to sell at all, it's got to be to the right person. It matters a lot to me who lives in my home and who winds up with that old Quaker place.”
“May I tell my deputy? Decisions I make affect him in the long run.”
“Sure.”
The sheriff continued on his way, entered his own office, and handed the envelope to the young man seated behind the desk.
“Looks like you've got a telegram, Rob,” he said.
“Me,” said Deputy Paxton in surprise. “Who from?”
“Don't know.”
Rob opened the envelope, took out the yellow sheet, and read the message. The look on his face certainly did not indicate that it was good news. He handed it to Heyes.
Dear Rob
, Heyes read.
Arrived at aunt's in Philadelphia. Mayme put in colored car at back of train but never arrived. Looked everywhere. They say car came loose from train. All people disappeared. No word from Mayme. Very worried. What should we do? Send word to Nelda Fairchild, 37 Bingham Court, Philadelphia. Yours, Kathleen Clairborne
.
“What do you make of it?” asked Heyes.
“I don't know,” replied Rob. “You think it could have anything to do with those reports we've heard about disappearing Negroes and the Caribbean slave market?”
“It could be. But the whole thing sounds pretty farfetched.”
Rob thought a moment, then reached for a sheet of paper and pen. “I'm going to write Katie a short reply,” he said. “And thenâI'm sorry to do this to you on such short notice . . . but I'm going to have to take a few days off.”
“Starting when?”
“Starting now, I'm afraid, Mr. Heyes,” answered Rob. “I've got to catch the train to Philadelphia. Meantime, can you see what you can dig up on that black-market slave thing? Seems like there was a suspected transport spot on the Virginia coast somewhere.”
“I'll see what I can find out,” replied Heyes.
P
ECULIAR
R
ESCUE
21
K
atie wasn't the only one who didn't know where I was. Neither did I!
It happened some time after the train had left Richmond the day before, as we were going up a steep hill, we slowed way down. The big black man I had noticed who had come into our car and then left didn't come back. Outside I heard some clanking metallic noises, and after that it seemed like we were going slower than ever
.
Then finally we stopped completely
.
I had been sitting near the front of the car and looking out the window. Now I turned around to look out the little window on the door we had all come through at the front of the car. But instead of seeing the door of the next car of the train a few feet away across the open platform between the cars, all I saw was open sky and trees and the train track
.
I was confused at first. Then I looked closer. The rest of the train was a hundred yards away up the track . . . and still going!
We had come unhooked from the train!
My looking around had only taken a few seconds.
Almost the same instant as I saw the back of the train through the window, I realized that we were no longer stoppedâwe had started to go backwards down the hill!
Most of the rest of those in the car were also realizing by now that something was wrong. We weren't with the train anymore!
Everyone began looking around and asking questions, and as we picked up speedâbackwards!âsome of the men started to get alarmed. Before much longer children were crying and a few women were starting to scream and the men were yelling and looking around trying to figure out if there was something they could do
.
But there wasn't. We were flying down the hill backwards with no brakes, and if we came to a sharp curve or if another train came along the tracks, we all knew we were done for
.
We were racing down the hill faster than I could imagine a train being able to go. People were screaming and praying and crying for help. I was scared to death that any minute we were going to fall off the tracks and roll down a cliff and all be killed. Everyone was in a panic except for the old woman who was sitting calmly beside me
.
“How can you be so calm?” I asked her, though I could hardly make myself heard. “Aren't you afraid?”
“What dere ter be feared ob?” she said
.
“That we'll crash. That we'll fly off the tracks or run into another train.”
She started chuckling
.
“We ain't gwine fly offen dese tracks, dearie,” she said
.
“How can you be so sure?”
“Because I take dis train norf every munf an' I
knows every inch er da way. An' dat hill we wuz comin' up is as straight as an arrow all da way from da bottom. Ain't a curve in sight. We's jes' gwine go faster'n faster straight down till we git ter da bottom, den we'll slow down an' stop an' den dey'll figger out what went wrong. Dere ain't nuthin' gwine happen ter usâwe's jes' gwine be a little late, dat's all.”
“What about another train?”
“Da nex' train along here ain't fo two hours er more. Jes' relax, dearie, an' enjoy da rideâeven effen it's in da wrong direction,” she added with a laugh
.
What she said helped, but I still couldn't help being afraid, especially with all the screaming and pandemonium around us
.
But she was right
.
After a while, gradually, I felt our speed start to slow down. You could both feel it and hear it from the clacking of the wheels along the tracks. Everyone calmed down. As the car slowed and stopped shaking back and forth so violently, we all began to think that maybe we would make it alive through the day after all
.
Soon the slowing became all the more noticeable. Slower . . . slower . . . slower we went, until again, just like at the top of the hill, we were just inching along
.
Then finally . . . we stopped
.
But this time we stayed stopped. And there we were, dead still on the tracks in the middle of nowhere
.
It was quiet for a few seconds. Everyone glanced around. Then some of the men began to stand up and look outside
.
“What's we s'posed ter do now?” said one of them
.
“Ain't nuthin' we kin do,” said another. “We's stuck here until dey comes an' gits us wiff anuder train.”
“What could er happened?” asked a third
.
“We come loose, dat's what. Muster been dat
blamed hill dat done it. Dis car muster been too heavy an' it jes' come loose.”
Suddenly the door opened and who should appear but the big mean-looking black man who we'd all thought had gone back into the front of the train
.
“All right,” he said, “come on, all er youâgit out.”
Everybody looked around, not quite knowing what to do
.
“Come on, I said . . . out. I'm tellin' youâain't no time ter lose. We gotta git out afore da nex' train comes an' runs into us. Den we'll be in a fix. Come on, I's here ter help y'all.”
“Ain't no train gwine come soon nohow,” said the old lady next to me. “I don't know what's goin' on, but it ain't dat!”
But she rose with everyone else as we slowly filed out the door and stepped down to the ground. In three or four minutes the car was empty, just sitting there on the tracks with everyone milling around. If there was another train coming, you sure couldn't hear it. It was completely quiet
.
I was still standing next to the old lady. She was the only person who had spoken to me the whole time. She was still mumbling about there not being another train for hours
.
Before very many minutes had passed we did hear a sound. But it wasn't a train. It was the clatter of two large wagons, each pulled by a team of four horses, rumbling toward us from across an empty field, seemingly coming from nowhere
.
Gradually they got nearer, then finally stopped. The first one was driven by the mean-looking white man I'd seen at the station before. How he'd gotten there I couldn't imagine
.
“You see now,” said the black man, “help's come already.”
“The man's right,” said the white man. “We're here from the railroad. They sent us to rescue you and take you to get on another train.”
“Effen dey's from da railroad,” muttered the woman standing beside me, “den I's Martha Washington!”
“All right, let's go . . . all of youâload in. We've got orders to get you to the train.”
“Beggin' yo pardon, suh,” said one of our fellow passengers, “but I's thinkin' dat perhaps me an' my family, we'll jes' stay here wiff da stranded car till dey comes fo us here.”
A few nods and mumbled comments went around the group
.
“I'm afraid that won't be possible,” said the man. “They told us to bring you all to the new train. They don't want anyone staying here. They said it won't be safe for you to stay here.”
“Meanin' no disrespect, suh,” said another. “But I think I'll be stayin' right here too wiff da others.”
More murmurs spread through the group
.
Suddenly a look of anger erupted on the white man's face. He pulled out a gun and pointed it straight at the passenger's face. At the same instant, the driver of the second wagon pulled out a rifle
.
“Look, you fool!” the first man shouted. “I told you to get in the wagon. All of youâor we start shooting!”
“I done tol' you dey wuzn't from da railroad!” mumbled the woman as she ambled with the rest of us toward the wagons. Slowly we all climbed into them with our carpetbags. It was very crowded. But that was the least of my worries
.
