Authors: Denise Daisy
“How do you know this?” she asks me.
“I saw you hiding in the trees,” I lie.
“Do you think I am bad?” she asks, like my opinion matters.
“Not at all,” I say.
She sighs in relief. “I figured you to be an abolitionist. No one would ever figure I am working with the Underground Railroad. It’s a perfect cover, though. I do have the townspeople stumped. They give out vital information right in front of me, never once suspecting I am the abductor and stationmaster in these parts.”
Now, I am the one shocked. I thought this was about her and Lunar being lovers, sneaking off on their own. I never once thought her rendezvous was illegal.
I’m stumped now and have no idea what to say next. It doesn’t matter, though. We have arrived at the edge of the woods. She stops our carriage. “We’re on foot from here. We must hurry before church lets out.”
I follow her through the forest. There is no forged path for us, which is understandable. Such a road would give the secret hideout away. Instead, we blaze through the wild overgrowth, hurdling fallen trees and dodging low-lying branches. I pull my dress high again. I see Emily do a double take before she smiles and follows suit. “You’re a bad influence, Miss Averie,” she drawls out, and we both laugh. Before long, we stop at a small, dirty hovel, much like the one Quillan and I slept in our first night. Emily gives a coded knock at the door and takes a step backward. A few seconds later, the door opens. I see Lunar peer out. One look at me, and his expression changes.
“She’s with me.” Emily raises her hand, stopping his verbal onslaught. “She’s an abolitionist, same as me, and sympathizes with our cause. She is willing to help us, and you know we need it.”
The door opens wider and four guys built like Lunar step outside, surrounding me. Their eyes are dark and ferocious, sizing me up, no doubt contemplating whether or not my life matters, or if I will be missed. They stare at me, obviously riled at my presence. I swallow hard. There is no need for an introduction. I know who these men are and what they are capable of. I wish I was with Quillan at church and not standing face-to-face with the hatchet-slinging brothers of Lunar Wilson.
I’m thinking my best chance of survival might be launching into Martin Luther King’s “I Have a Dream”
speech. I memorized it last year for a presentation I did during black history month. It’s never been heard in this time period. I figure I could improvise and win them over, but I don’t get the chance. I’m ushered into the shack, but before the private meeting can take place, Lunar voices his objection. “Why you bring that crazy girl here? She gonna get us killed!”
“Now, Lunar”—Emily speaks in a calm, nonthreatening manner—“you must trust me on this. We can use her help with the amount of cargo we have coming through the next few weeks. There are not enough of us to pull this off, and you know it. I do believe her coming here is a godsend.”
I can tell Lunar adores Emily by the way he watches her every move. And the way she speaks to him, with a slight smile on her lips and a twinkle in her eye, is a dead giveaway to the affection they share for each other. She continues with her plan, speaking in code. Some I understand from history class, some I don’t. Cargo, of course, represents escaped slaves. The stationmaster would be the person who hides slaves inside their home. In this case, it is Emily. How apropos. It’s brilliant really, and I am as impressed with Emily as Quillan is. No one would ever suspect the gentle Miss Faulkner, and with all the political talk between James and his friends, vital information is always at her disposal.
It’s sweltering in the small hovel. I’m miserable, and the suspicious glares of Lunar’s brothers do nothing to calm my nerves. I sit up straight, exemplifying perfect posture, hoping I might come across as self-assured and intimidating instead of crazy. It doesn’t take long before Emily draws me into their plans, ignoring their obvious disapproval of my involvement.
“This is where you come in, dear.” She reaches over and touches my hand. “All this is done quite simply, really. I utilize secret passages running through my home. Escapees are invited to spend the night, escorted upstairs to the unused bedrooms on the third floor.” Her involvement is a blatant disrespect of her parent’s trust, yet I believe her actions are justifiably righteous.
“Tonight at ten.” She begins laying out her plan. “Exit your room through the grand mirror. Pull on the bottom left of the frame. It will open. Take the stairway down and follow the passageway to the end. It will lead you to the carriage house. Lunar will deliver the cargo to you there. Take them up the passageway to the third floor, sixth door on the left. It will be marked
Bed 23- bookcase
. It empties through bookshelves into a bedroom. I will have provisions waiting for them in there. Tell them to sleep. At four in the morning, escort them back to the carriage house. Jeb will meet you and take them from there.”
I hope no one sees me trembling. I can’t do this. I simply can’t go traipsing through that foreboding mansion in the dead of night. What if I am caught? What then? I want to protest, but they are waiting for my response, skepticism carved on everyone’s face except Emily’s. I am not sure why she thinks I am so wonderful, but she does have complete confidence in me. I do hate to let her down, but I am ready to give a valid reason why I shouldn’t participate, like blame the nonexistent baby growing in my womb, when Jeb speaks up.
“Naomi died last night. She died feelin’ real proud knowin’ you took up for her. She left this world knowin’ there are some good white folks who care ’bout us.”
“Was it my fault?” is all I can say, remembering Potbelly made her walk home because of what I did.
“You meant well, ma’am.” His words fall like a gavel on a judge’s bench, convicting me of her death. My face burns hot in shame as the small room falls quiet.
“Maybe I shouldn’t help,” I manage to squeak out. “I’m afraid I might do more harm than good.”
“We do the best we can,” Lunar says. “You gotta pick your battles, and when you’re pickin’, only pick ones you think you can win. You ain’t ever gonna succeed goin’ up against someone like Mr. Butler in public. Our best fighting is done in secrecy. We triumph by not drawing attention to our plight.”
He’s right. With unwavering conviction, he looks me in the eye. It’s then I notice his resemblance to Quillan.
“I trust Miss Emily’s judgment,” he continues. “If she says you got a good heart, then I believe her. But you different, that fo’ sure. And in a way, it scares the hell outa me ’cause I can see you causin’ a lot of trouble. This ain’t some game. Its life and death. The Underground Railroad is dangerous work. Any of us will hang if we get caught…”
I hear nothing else after that. I know why Lunar was hung. It has nothing to do with him being in love with Emily. I want to tell Quillan about my discovery, but unfortunately he is sitting in church. I agree to help tonight and for the remainder of this month, if they need me. I’ll do what I can. It may be the only way I can prevent Lunar from being caught and hung, giving Quillan his chance at life. There is so much at stake, my heart thunders. I’ve never been more terrified in my life.
“I understand,” I say. Lunar stares at me in silence. Both of us searching each other’s soul. The way I once envisioned Lunar Wilson, swinging from the mighty oak, is nothing how I picture it now. Today, it turns my stomach and terrifies me in an entirely different way. Before, he was a just a creepy legend, a haunting story I pushed to the back of my mind. Now, he stands before me in the flesh, full of life and hope. Lunar has a heart that fuels his passion for a better life, and at the same time burns with love for Emily. Our inspection of each other has gone on far too long. He swallows hard. I think I spook him by the way I am looking at him.
We make it back to the house in plenty of time. I sit on the front porch, sipping lemonade and fanning my face, faking morning sickness. I am happy when I see Quillan riding up the cobblestone driveway in the Faulkners’ carriage. His lips melt into a grin when he sees me. Call me a romantic, but that’s a damn indication to me he’s relieved I’m back. A warm feeling spreads inside my belly, but then a cold realization I will never be with him quenches the burning. My excitement fades. Tears well up from deep down inside my heart. I keep them back. Now is not the time.
Pearl surprises us with a picnic basket full of goodies. Elizabeth suggests Quillan and I go have our lunch down by the pond. I’m thrilled we will be dining alone.
Quillan lays out our quilt in a patch of thick clover under one of the big oaks. I unload our basket and wonder how Pearl fit all this food inside such a small container. I pull out a spread of fried chicken, potato salad, bread-and-butter pickles, collard greens, deviled eggs, slices of watermelon, and peach cobbler. No more faking morning sickness, I am digging in.
Quillan reclines and eats, lying on his side. He’s more enticing than the meal, so I try putting my attention on other things, like the beautiful lily pads floating on the water or fish bobbing up to nibble on plants growing near the surface. Despite my efforts, I can feel his eyes on me. I don’t want him knowing I can sense his stare, so I act oblivious, giving him my best side as I innocently stare out over the water, careful not to chew with my mouth open.
“How come you won’t admit you like Mike?” Quillan’s question startles me.
“What?” I say, as a piece of my deviled egg falls out of my mouth.
“It’s obvious you have feelings for him. Is it your fear that keeps you from letting him know?”
I swallow the rest of my egg and dab the corners of my mouth with my linen napkin. “How is it obvious I have feelings for Mike? Which I don’t, by the way.”
Quillan takes a bite off a chicken leg and grins. “You dressed up for dinner and sat in on the meal, even though you were scared to death. You did it for Mike.”
“I did it because I desperately needed money,” I launch into my own defense. “Yes, Mike talked me into it, and yes, I wanted to help him out, but that’s only because we are best friends.”
“It’s your scapegoat,” Quillan accuses me. “It’s easy to settle for the best friend’s theory because you are afraid if you take the risk and let Mike know how you really feel, he will reject you. Except, I don’t think he would. I saw the way he tended to you at dinner. I think he likes you, too. I know how guys think. We’re afraid of getting our hearts broken, too. Mike’s afraid of rejection.”
I laugh out loud at that one. “Mike is never rejected. He has a line of girls waiting to go out with him. He’s the heartbreaker, believe me.”
“You’re saying he can have any girl he wants?”
“Basically, yes. He does have them for a while but always finds something wrong with them and tosses them to the curb.”
Quillan shakes his head and laughs. “Oh, Averie, you are blind to the truth.”
“What?” I’m confused. “Blind to what?”
“You said Mike always finds something wrong with the girls he goes out with, right?”
“Yes.” I laugh at the thought. “He broke up with a beautiful girl because he said her breath stunk too much. He broke up with the homecoming queen because he didn’t like a certain pair of yellow tennis shoes she owned. He broke up with the head cheerleader because her laugh was too high-pitched, and he broke up with another girl because she pronounced caramel wrong.” I’m laughing pretty hard now. Quillan is staring a hole through me, probably thinking I’m nuts, but Mike’s reasons for breaking up always crack me up. The yellow-tennis-shoes excuse was one of the best.
He shakes his head again. “Averie, Mike breaks up with all the girls because they are not you. You are the standard he’s set for himself, whether you realize it or not. It’s you he wants, not them.”
My laughing tapers off with Quillan’s disclosure. I’ve never thought about it that way before. I can see his point, but he truly doesn’t understand my and Mike’s relationship.
“You have a valid point. I’ll give you that. But, seriously, I am not Mike’s type. He dates the best of the best, beauty queens, popular, rich, and talented. I think he’s afraid of commitment.”
“Would you date him if you knew he was interested?” Quillan asks me.
My cheeks burn with his question. “No.” I sigh. “No, I’ve never liked Mike in that way. He’s too good of a friend.”
“I feel sorry for Mike then,” Quillan says. “It must grieve his heart to be close to you, yet realize he can never have you.”
For some reason, I feel as if Quillan is referring to himself. Air escapes my lungs as his gray eyes bore into mine, and I am captivated in his presence. A sudden feeling of remorse sweeps across our hand-stitched quilt, causing me to lose my appetite. I want to cry great heaving sobs but dare not to. I am falling for someone I can never have. If we succeed in our mission, he will be born in 1860, making him one hundred and fifty-two years older than me. He will die way before I am ever born, so there goes the chance of us ever meeting up in the future. All we have is this month, and I am wondering if it’s worth it. Should I let myself fall in love with him knowing what I know?
Neither one of us says anything else. We sit on our blanket, watching the ducks on the pond.
I can’t sleep for fear of missing the ten-o’clock rendezvous at the carriage house. I also can’t sleep because I am nervous as hell. The thought of traipsing through the secret corridors still frightens me, even though Quillan insisted on coming along. I am not sure how that will sit with the Wilson boys, so I told him he must stay out of sight once we reach the carriage house. He agreed, which gives me a little more confidence.
A low rumble of thunder in the distance. Another summer thunderstorm is brewing. I hope the cargo gets here before the rain. The tolling of the grandfather clock echoes through the house, telling me it’s time to head to the secret passage. My pulse races as I swing my legs over the side of the bed. Quillan is up fast, too, which makes me think he wasn’t able to sleep either. He turns up the wick in the lantern while I pull on the bottom right hand side of the framed mirror. It doesn’t move at first, but with a harder tug, it swings toward me.
Yikes
. I’m Alice going through the looking glass, and I pray I don’t encounter the Jabberwocky tonight.