The Attic Diary Page 2

  “Here put this on.” I took my coat from my own shoulders and handed it to the woman. “Warm yourself and your child. This weather isn’t fit for man nor beast.”

  Instead of gratitude, I saw a look of fear pass between the man and woman.

  “Sir, please don’t turn us in.” The man was so agitated I began to wonder if I might be in danger from him. Desperation had turned more than one man into a murderer.

  “I won’t turn you in. You will be a guest in my house. It is warm in there, and my wife is kind. We will figure out how best to help you.”

  Again, a look of fear passed between the two.

  “Besides it is Christmas Morning and I just found a baby in my barn,” I said. “What kind of a person would I be if I left you three out here?”

  I thought I might have seen a small smile on the woman’s face, but it disappeared quickly.

  “You are a Christian man?” the woman said.

  “I am.”

  “You are a Quaker?” she asked. “I have heard that Quakers will take in slaves.”

  Her voice was slightly more cultured than the man’s. I figured she might have once been a house slave.

  “I am not a Quaker, but I am a Christian—and I know that Christ would have me take you in and help you. Please trust me.”

  My wife and I had not been married long. Less than a year. Our honeymoon had consisted of building this modest cabin and it was as snug and comfortable as we could make it. We had hopes of a family and we had fitted out a loft area for the children we expected to come in the future. We slept in one of the two rooms on the main floor.

  It was about four a.m. when I walked through the door with my three guests. Milly was sound asleep and we had only been married less than a year; I wasn’t entirely sure how she would react.

  I knew how I wanted her to react—but I couldn’t tell for sure. Milly was a kind woman, but she had a mind of her own—and that mind might not be thrilled with taking in three strangers with skin much darker than our own.

  I left the three standing, unsure of themselves, in the combination livingroom/kitchen and opened our bedroom door a crack.

  “Honey, we have guests. Can you come help me?”

  Milly raised herself on one elbow, pushed her curly, red hair back out of her eyes, and blinked at me as I stood there with the lantern in my hand.

  “What time is it?”

  “About four.”

  Her hair, even though she braided it tightly each evening, was already tangled and falling out of its braid. I loved her beyond measure, but I held my breath, wondering what she would say.

  “My goodness,” Milly said. “So who is here at this hour? Santa Claus?”

  Then, without another question, she got out of bed, threw on her robe and followed me out to the living room where the ragged man, woman and child huddled together.

  “This is….” I started to explain, but she took in the whole scene in a glance and interrupted me.

  “My name is Milly,” she said, without missing a beat. “Looks like you folks could use some breakfast.”

  I am reminded why I married this woman just about every day of my life, but that night was the moment I was proudest of her. With me in my night shirt and boots and three desperate strangers standing in our cabin, Milly tucked her red tresses under her night cap and transformed herself into a ministering angel of God.

  “These people are freezing, Lyle. Get that stove fired up—and then run back outside and see if our hens decided to lay any eggs yesterday. What with all the Christmas preparation, I didn’t remember to check.”

  Before I hardly knew what was happening, she had draped her own heavy shawl around the woman and baby, handed the man a quilt to wrap up in, and had all three seated at the table while she grabbed some leftover biscuits, butter and honey from the pantry.

  “There. That’ll hold you while I get some real food started.” She began slicing off pieces from a ham she’d baked the night before. “Give me just a few minutes and a hot fire, and we’ll get those bellies filled right up.”

  As I went out the door to see if the hens had blessed us with any eggs, I couldn’t help but notice that the fear was draining away from the woman and man. Now they were looking at each other like they could not believe what was happening: a white woman was cooking for them and serving them like they were honored guests.

  Chapter Three

  Welcomed Guests

  The kitchen had warmed up nicely, and every speck of scrambled eggs, ham, and biscuits had disappeared. Our guests had been so hungry, there had been little conversation as they ate. Milly and I sat at the table, watching them. As hungry as the woman was, she fed her baby first—putting pieces of scrambled egg in his mouth, which he gobbled down like a little bird and reached for more.

  Finally, the man leaned back in his chair and for the first time, looked me straight in the face.

  “My name is Moses. This is my wife, Pansy, and our child’s name is Nathan.”

  “Do you think he’ll come to me?” Milly asked, putting out her arms.

  Pansy hesitated only a moment before she allowed Milly to take her child.

  “He’s soaked,” Milly said. “but I can fix that.”

  She and Nathan disappeared into our bedroom and came out a few minutes later with Nathan wearing one of our pillowcases folded and pinned. Milly then took the baby to her rocking chair by the fire and began rocking him, humming softly to him. He fell asleep in an instant, his little dark head against Milly’s freckled neck. She smiled back at us, as though she had waited her whole life just to hold this tiny bundle.

  My heart ached with love for her and concern for this family that was scrambling north toward their freedom.

  “We are grateful for your generosity and we will work to pay for this meal,” Pansy said. “If there is one thing we know—it is how to work.”

  Again, I noticed the way she spoke. It was as though she’d been educated, even though I knew it was illegal in most of the south to educate a slave.

  “The meal is a free gift,” I said. “Milly and I are happy to help. But I would like to know your story, if you don’t mind. How did you end up in my barn?”

  “We been on the run ever since Miss’ippi. Our owner, he plan to sell Nathan to a family in ‘bama. Pansy say we better run.”

  “We had no choice,” Pansy added.

  “We make it tru’ Kentucky and cross the Ohio River but for some reason the man who suppos’ to meet us and take us on up to Canada never show. We wait hours but it got so cold we jus’ started walkin’. I jus’about gave myself a lump on the head hittin’ yo’barn. It so dark I don’ see it ‘til I ‘bout two feet away. I thought maybe God led us to your barn. We so hungry. Pansy see your cow with milk and she say, ‘God be praised!’ Pansy and me, we are not thieves, but that milk taste good!”

  “You saved me from having to milk her this morning,” I replied. “She gives more than we are able to use anyway.”

  “You and the missus are good people,” Pansy said.

  “I wish I could have you stay here as long as you want but even though Ohio is a free state, there are those that would grab you in a minute.”

  “We know too well.” Moses replied. “I seen what owners do to dem dat get caught. It is a terrible thing.”

  “We’ll hide you as long as we can,” Milly said. “Until we can figure out a way to get you further north.” My wife glanced down at the child asleep on her shoulder, and I saw her jaw set in a defiant look I’d never seen before. “We’ll get you away someplace safe, even if I have to drive you there myself!”

  “Wow,” Hannah said aloud. “Runaway slaves ate in the same kitchen I ate my Corn Flakes in this morning? No way!”

  It was going to be so cool telling her history teacher about this come fall! Who knew? He might even let her use this diary somehow as a an extra credit project!

  “Hannah, do you have another box ready?” One of her aunts was standing at the bottom of
the stairs, yelling up at her. “We’ve finished going through the last one.”

  Hannah scrambled to grab a random box and hurried downstairs. She hoped she could escape before anyone opened it. All it would take would be one item taken from the box, and she would be trapped to hear some story about where this or that came from.

  Hannah was not that lucky. It turned out that the box contained some old dishes that had a wedding story behind it. The story turned out to be longer and more interesting than she thought it would be. An hour later, it was time for work to end. Those who lived close were heading home, and her mom wanted her to help clean up the main floor of her grandma’s house, and help with dinner. It became clear that she would have to wait till tomorrow to get back to her hidden book.

  Chapter Four

  The First Run

  “My goodness!” Her mother stood in the doorway of the downstairs bedroom Hannah was sharing with her little brother. “I thought I would have to throw cold water on you to get you out of bed and here you are already up and dressed. It isn’t even 7:00 a.m. yet.”

  Hannah did not want her mother to guess how badly she wanted to get back upstairs so she could read some more on the diary—but it had been hard for her to sleep last night, she was so excited about her find. For a few minutes, she had even considered sneaking upstairs—but decided against it. This old house was a little spooky at night, and she decided to stay right where she was—in her bed, with her little brother across the room in his, and her mother just on the other side of the wall.

  Hannah scooted up to the table. “Well I guess this clean country air is just not letting me sleep in.”

  Her mom sat milk and cereal and pop tarts on the table. “Maybe today I’ll help you clean out some of those old boxes upstairs.“

  “But what about you and your sisters? Don’t you want to spend

  as much time as you can with them? Like you never get to be with them.”

  Her mom cocked her head to one side and looked closely at Hannah. Too closely. It made Hannah wonder if her mom realized something was up.

  “That’s okay, Mom. I don’t mind. I prefer to be up there alone. If you come up all my aunts will follow you up there, and if I hear another Lawrence Welk story, I’ll croak.”

  “Okay.” Her mom chuckled. “I’ll keep my sisters entertained today. You just keep those boxes coming from upstairs. And be careful. You never know what sort of treasures we might actually find in one of those boxes.”

  If you only knew the treasure I found, Mom. Hannah smiled to herself. If you only knew!

  She spooned the cereal down and tipped the bowl of milk to drink it like it was a big cup and grabbed a pop tart before she practically ran up the stairs, hoping she had not dreamed up the existence of the diary during the night.

  She closed the door behind her and dove behind the boxes. Yep. The loose board was still there. Yep. The diary was tucked right behind it.

  Pop tart completely forgotten, she opened up the diary and began to read in the early morning light that filtered in through upstairs windows that had not been washed in decades.

  January 9, 1853

  I had to be so careful. Precious lives were depending on me and I didn’t know what to do to keep from accidentally jeopardizing them. I had heard rumors of an underground railroad running through Ripley, Portsmouth, Ironton, and the surrounding area but I had no idea how to find out where the “station” was, or where the “line” went.

  These are not things that are advertised, or even talked about except among those who trusted each other with their very lives.

  After much thought, I took a chance and went to our minister. He was a good man, and an honest one. I’d never heard a mean word come from his mouth. He might know what to do, or he might not—but I trusted him not to go running to some slaver about my new friends, hoping for reward money.

  With my head low and saying prayers all the way to his house I knocked on his door.

  “Lyle,” he said. “What brings you to my door this beautiful morning?”

  The preacher, John Hunter, a man in his late thirties, had been in the process of getting dressed when I called. He finished tucking in his shirt and pulling his suspenders up over his shoulders while he stood inside the door of his small home.

  “Um….sir…I need to talk. Do you have a few minutes?”

  “This sounds serious, my friend.” A frown creased Daniel’s brow. “Please come in.”

  “Where’s your wife?” I asked.

  “Oh she is visiting a neighbor. Mrs. Beasley’s newborn has the croup, and you know my Victoria—always helping out where she can.”

  “What I need to talk to you about has to be kept extremely private. Only you and I can know about this. It’s a matter of life or death.”

  Daniel’s voice dropped low. “What’s wrong Lyle?”

  “Will you promise to God that you will not tell anyone what I’m about to tell you?” I asked.

  “Yes,” he said. “If this is so serious that you need to have that kind of reassurance, I will make that promise to you and to God. You have my word I will not tell our conversation to anyone.”

  “Yesterday I found a small family of runaway slaves in my barn. They are trying to head north and I want to help but I don’t know how.”

  “Shhh!” Daniel’s arm shot out, and he pulled me into the house and closed the door. “When it comes to helping the slaves, I sometimes fear that the very trees have ears.”

  He lit a candle, led me down the stairs to a small cellar, pulled the trap door shut behind us and sat me down on a keg of sugar. He took a seat on a keg of lard.

  “Lyle, do you truly listen to my sermons?”

  “I do—but why do you ask?”

  “Do you remember the ones where I talk about trying to be Christ like not only in the way we treat our neighbors and friends—but in the way we treat strangers that God sends our way?”

  “I never thought. Were you talking about….”

  “Lyle, I can open a door to you, but once that door is opened, there is no turning back.” John looked deep into my eyes, as though searching for something.

  “I know right from wrong, Preacher,” I replied. “I will never say ‘no’ to those who are in need. I will protect the people who came to my home yesterday with my life if need be. Just tell me what to do.”

  I had never thought about it before, but I knew the minute the words came out of my mouth that I had never meant anything more than I did at that moment.

  He nodded, evidently satisfied with my answer.

  “I know what to do,” he said. “But you are about to discover people in our community that you would never suspect, have been helping smuggle slaves to Canada right beneath your nose—and the noses of those who would drag them back to the tyranny of slavery.” He glanced around as though fearing the cellar walls were listening. “Bring the family to my house after dark. The moon is still on the wane, so it will be very dark. Don’t light so much as a candle to guide them here. Hide them in the bottom of your wagon. Ask Milly to pack enough food to last them three days, and—I can’t emphasize this enough—tell nothing to no one. There are people in this area who would betray you and them for one small piece of silver, and you don’t know who they are. Unfortunately, neither do I.”

  ****

  I had never been so nervous in my life. I checked, rechecked, and checked yet again my wagon for anything that could break during that long day as I waited for dark to come. I did not want a wheel breaking half way to the minister’s house with Moses and his family in it. I also greased and re-greased every axle to keep it from creaking any more than necessary.

  I piled two feather beds onto the wagon. One to cushion their ride, the other to cover them and to protect them from the field corn I piled on top—just enough to hide them, not enough to suffocate them.

  With Pansy’s help, Milly spent the long day baking. She was as nervous as the rest of us, and I’m afraid there was much more tha
n three days of provisions when she finished. All was piled into the wagon, along with a small bundle of clean flannel squares to be used for Nathan’s diapers.

  When Milly got finished, Pansy had a warm new dress, one that Milly had been making for herself. Nathan had been wrapped in an old, wool shawl, and Moses was wearing my new, wool, Christmas long johns beneath his rags. They had not been dressed for cold weather when they escaped from the south. Now they were.

  Before Pansy climbed into the nest I’d made them in the wagon, Milly gave her a hug and said, “I don’t know when you will get to where you need to go, but I want you to know that my prayers will never stop for you.”

  Pansy replied, “And my prayers will continue for you—as long as I live.”

  If I thought I was scared, it was nothing compared to what I saw in the eyes of Pansy and Moses as I began to pile field corn over the top of the old feather mattress.

  Here I was, a stranger, saying, “Lie in the back of my wagon, be covered up in complete darkness, put your life in my hands, and trust me.”

  Is that what faith is like sometimes? Just trusting the Lord to take you to safety, even if you don’t have any idea where He’s taking you?

  As I drove the wagon the three miles in nearly pitch darkness, it seemed like I was seeing human shapes behind every tree, crouched and ready to jump out and grab us. Every noise made me jump, and I realized for the first time that I was not really a very brave man-- but we made it to Daniel’s house with no problem. Still, I was so nervous by the time I got there that I could have wrung a bucket of sweat from my shirt, in spite of the freezing cold weather.

  Even before I came to a full stop in back of the preacher’s house, he had already opened the door and come out to greet us.