By October, the tobacco was all harvested and the Playfair party had quit the plantation to return to Richmond.
“I must declare, I’m glad to see the backs of them,” Ellie confided to Orla.
All the household staff seemed to breathe easier, for not only were the English gone, but Batterston as well. The tobacco leaves had been dried in the enormous drying sheds, and now wagon loads of the leaves were ready to be sold. He personally accompanied the wagons to the river to see the harvest loaded onto barges and brought to Richmond where he was tasked with getting the best prices at auction.
“But he won’t be back for weeks,” Burley told Caitríona. “So, until then, we can relax a bit.”
One particularly fine autumn morning, after she had finished her morning chores, Caitríona went out to the stables. They had only had glimpses of Ewan since arriving at Fair View. She nearly didn’t recognize him as he had grown three or four inches.
“Caitríona!” he said in welcome as she stepped into the stable’s cool interior. Curious at the arrival of a stranger, the horses approached to stare at the newcomer, their graceful necks arching over stall doors. She patted their faces, tugging at forelocks as she murmured to them. She realized how much she missed being around animals.
“How are you, Ewan?” she asked, stopping to pat a gray Arabian mare.
“I’m good,” he said, shrugging philosophically. “Life here is as good as it would have been back in Ireland, maybe better.”
Caitríona’s face darkened. “For you, maybe.”
Ewan tilted his head as he considered her. “For you as well, I’m thinkin’.”
“How so?” she asked, frowning.
“Well, back home, you would have been expected to marry and start having babies. And I’m thinkin’ that’s not what you would want.”
Caitríona laughed bitterly. “Hell would freeze over first.”
“So,” he said, spreading his hands. “Me mam told me before I left Ireland, ‘tis my lot to clean up horse shit, no matter where I am. ‘Tis yours to clean a house. At least here, you’re not cleanin’ for a husband and a bunch of squallin’ babies.”
She smiled in spite of herself. “Do you always look at things so?”
He grinned. The mare nudged Caitríona, almost knocking her over. “Would you like to take her out?” he asked. “She’s needin’ to be worked.”
Caitríona’s eyes opened wide. “Could I? I haven’t been on a horse since we left home.”
“Sure, but don’t you be tellin’ anyone or it’s both our necks.” He turned toward the tack room. “Side saddle?”
She scowled at him, and he laughed. A few minutes later, she was astride the high-spirited mare, cantering across the fields. Topping a grassy knoll, she drew the mare up. For a moment, the rolling terrain stretching out before her could have been Ireland. The mare stamped impatiently, and Caitríona let her have her head, rising in the stirrups as the little mare gracefully jumped a gully without so much as a break in her stride. Cantering up the next hill, they neared an enormous oak tree with a wide, spreading canopy.
A figure lying in the grass under the tree leapt to its feet with a small scream. The mare shied sideways, unseating Caitríona who managed to hold onto the reins as she landed flat on her back. The impact knocked the wind out of her. All she could do was lie there, waiting until her lungs could pull air back in. A figure loomed over her.
“Are you all right, Miss?”
Caitríona could not answer immediately. When at last she could force air into her lungs, she sat up, wincing a little.
“Miss?”
It was Hannah, looking very frightened.
“I’m fine, Hannah,” gasped Caitríona when she could talk. “And you don’t have to call me Miss. My name is Caitríona.”
“Yes, Miss.”
Caitríona smiled. “What are you doing out here?” she asked as she got to her feet. She spotted a piece of parchment lying in the grass.
“Nothing,” said Hannah, snatching it up and hiding it behind her back.
Caitríona looked at her in puzzlement. “You can trust me. I’m not going to tell anyone.”
Shyly, Hannah held out the parchment. One side was covered in drawings, small sketches of flowers, faces, birds. Crammed into the spaces between the drawings were random letters. Caitríona squinted at them, but they didn’t spell anything.
“The drawings are beautiful,” she said, “but… were you trying to write something?”
Hannah lowered her eyes and said nothing.
“Do you know how to read and write?” Caitríona asked.
Hannah shook her head. “We’re not allowed. It’s against the law.”
Caitríona looked back down at the parchment in her hand. “Would you like to learn? I could teach you.”
Hannah raised her eyes and her face was transfigured. Caitríona had never seen her look so happy. She was beautiful.
“You would do that?” Hannah asked.
Caitríona blinked and looked back down at the parchment, nodding. “No one should be able to tell us we’re not allowed to learn.”
“Us?” Hannah repeated, puzzled.
“Slaves.”
Hannah laughed. “You’re not a slave, Miss.”
Caitríona let the mare graze as she sat down in the grass. Hannah sat beside her. “Lord Playfair bought you,” Caitríona said, “and he bought Orla and me as well. Our father sold us to him.”
Hannah frowned, trying to grasp this. “I never heard of a white person who was a slave. What would happen to you if you ran away?”
Caitríona picked up the piece of charcoal Hannah had been using and began writing as she replied, “I don’t know. But we work for no money. What would we do? Where would we go? And for us, Lord Playfair owns the land our family lives on and farms in Ireland, so if we displease him, he will punish them.”
She looked over at Hannah. “How old are you?”
Hannah shrugged. “I don’t know, Miss.”
“Doesn’t your mother celebrate your birthday?”
“I don’t have a mother, Miss,” Hannah said softly. “I was sold when she died having another baby. I’ve been here with Ruth as long as I can remember.”
“I’m sorry, Hannah,” Caitríona said, laying a hand on Hannah’s shoulder.
Hannah stared down at Caitríona’s hand. “You have very strange ideas, Miss,” she said, shaking her head.
“Like teaching you to read and write?” Caitríona smiled. “This,” she said, holding up the parchment, “is the alphabet.”
§§§
“Where do you think you’re going?”
Startled, Conn almost fell over in the grass as she balanced on one foot, trying to put her Keds on. She turned to see her mother watching her through the screen door. “Uh…”
“Hi!”
Conn whirled around in the other direction to see Jed loping up the drive, his fishing pole in hand. Gritting her teeth in exasperation, she thought quickly. She turned to her mother and said, “Jed and I are going fishing.”
“Aren’t you forgetting something?” Elizabeth asked.
“Ummm…” Conn stalled, trying to think of what she’d forgotten.
“Your fishing rod?”
“Oh.” Conn grinned sheepishly and came back onto the porch to retrieve her rod from the corner. “I guess that would help.”
“Did you have breakfast?”
“Yes. Cereal and orange juice,” Conn said. “Already washed my dishes.”
“Thank you for everything you’ve done to help out lately,” Elizabeth said. “I think I just might keep you.”
Conn grinned again. “See you later, Mam.”
“Have fun, and be careful,” Elizabeth called to Conn’s back as she ran, waving, toward Jed.
“Come with me,” Conn said in an urgent whisper to Jed, and led the way past the barn, doubling back to it once they were out of sight of the house.
“What’re you doin’?” Jed asked in confusion as he followed Conn.
“I –” Conn tilted her head as she looked at him properly for the first time. She reached up to pull a few pieces of straw from his hair which was sticking out at odd angles anyway. “You look like you slept in a barn.”
“Well, that’d be ‘cause I slept in the barn with Jack,” he grinned.
“How come?”
“Pa was in a rage last night,” he shrugged. “I haven’t seen him that drunk in a long time.”
“What was he in a rage about?”
“Nig –” He cut himself off abruptly. “Uh, colored folks. Old man Hardy hired him to fix some fence, but Pa… well, he got drunk and passed out under one of the trees, and some of the cattle got loose. So, old man Hardy fired my pa and gave the job to Abraham instead.”
“Oh.” Conn wasn’t sure what to say.
Jed seemed to read her mind. “It’s not Abraham’s fault. He’ll get the job done right. But… we coulda used the money,” he finished, embarrassed.
“Oh,” Conn said again.
“So, what are you doin’?” Jed repeated. “Aren’t we goin’ fishin’?”
“Not today. Can you keep a secret?”
Jed nodded, and Conn led him into the lower level of the barn. Standing in the dim early morning light there, she ordered him to raise his right hand.
“Swear you won’t tell a soul what I’m about to show you, or…” She thought hard. “… or the ghost of this house will haunt you the rest of your days,” she said dramatically.
Jed’s eyes got big and he looked around, letting his hand lower. “There really is a ghost?” he whispered fearfully.
“Of course there is,” Conn said. “Now swear.”
His hand trembled a bit as he raised it again. “I swear,” he croaked.
His mouth fell open as Conn opened the trapdoor.
“Climb down the ladder and wait for me at the bottom,” she said. When he had descended, she started down, pausing to grasp the trapdoor and pull it shut over top of them.
When she reached the bottom of the ladder, she dug into the pocket of her shorts and pulled out a wooden match. She scraped it against the ladder and it flared with a hiss, lighting the absolute darkness of the tunnel. She handed the match to Jed and retrieved the bag she had hidden earlier. She quickly pulled out a candle and lit it before the match burnt down to Jed’s fingertips.
“Here,” she said, handing him the candle while she squatted down and carefully filled the oil lamp she had bought. After igniting it and adjusting the wick, she reached yet again into her bag and pulled out the box of chalk, handing Jed a piece and pocketing one herself.
“What is this place?” Jed asked in awe as he looked around.
“That’s what we’re going to find out,” Conn said as she stood. “Come on.”
She led the way down the right hand fork of the tunnel. With the oil lamp casting broader light, she could see other fissures that looked as if they might be additional tunnels. Seeing one that looked a little larger than the others, she paused. “Let’s see where this goes.”
She stepped into the fissure and could immediately tell that its walls and floor were more jagged and narrow than the tunnel they had just left. She took her chalk and drew an arrow on the wall, pointing back the way they had come. Inching forward, she could hear Jed’s nervous breathing behind her. She held the oil lamp high, trying to see the roof of the fissure when Jed suddenly grabbed her by the shirt, pulling her backwards.
“What?” she asked, startled.
“Look,” he said, pointing.
Just in front of Conn was blackness. Kneeling down and adjusting the position of the lamp, she saw that she had been about to step into a chasm about six feet wide, her light unable to penetrate its depths.
“Thanks,” she said shakily.
“Let’s go back,” Jed suggested. “We can’t get across that nohow.”
They retraced their steps to the main tunnel and continued along it. This tunnel seemed to Conn to go on longer than the one that ended near the slave cabin. They noted other smaller tunnels branching off, but Jed said, “Let’s stick with this one.”
The tunnel veered sharply to the right and they suddenly came upon a wall of rock and dirt.
“It caved in,” Conn said, holding the oil lamp high to examine the impasse. As far as she could tell, the rubble looked solid all the way to the roof of the tunnel, with no openings or pockets that they could squeeze through.
Jed reached out and pushed at some of the rocks and dirt. It all felt solid, compacted. “This happened a long time ago,” he said.
Conn felt a sudden rage so strong it made her dizzy. Gasping, she reached out to the wall to support herself. The air around them became chilled enough that she could see her breath. She looked around, but didn’t see anything.
“Are you all right?” Jed asked, looking around nervously.
Conn leaned against the wall, trying to slow her heart. “I’m fine.”
“How did you know all this was down here?” Jed demanded.
She quickly considered how much to tell him. “I found the trap door in the barn,” she said, deciding to tell part of the truth. “I haven’t had a chance to really explore. I don’t want to worry my mother. She’s had enough to worry about lately.” She turned to him. “Remember, you swore you wouldn’t tell anyone.”
“I know I did,” he said defensively. “But why are these tunnels here?”
“I don’t know,” Conn admitted. She turned from the cave-in with a sigh. “Come on. Let’s go back.”
Their trip back to the ladder was uneventful.
“Where does that one go?” Jed asked, indicating the left-hand tunnel.
Making her mind up quickly, Conn said, “Meet me at the old slave cabin tomorrow morning at eight, okay?”