“Where in the world do you suppose he went?” Ellie asked for probably the hundredth time.
It had been four days since Batterston had simply disappeared. The mystery and speculation over why he had gone had helped to minimize the curiosity over Caitríona’s bruises from tripping down the servants’ staircase.
Only Burley seemed dissatisfied with that explanation. “Funny how the banister managed to wrap itself round your neck,” he said quietly so that no one else would hear.
Caitríona’s face reddened, but she said nothing.
A few days later, Burley had to go to High Acre, the closest neighboring plantation, to see if they could trade some sugar for fresh corn and beans.
“I need to talk to you, private,” he whispered to Caitríona when he got back.
She met him at the pump house.
“They’re talkin’ over there,” Burley said in a low voice, “Said a slave trader came by, lookin’ to buy some slaves. Said he had a deal to buy some of ours, but Batterston never showed up. The folks at High Acre are askin’ all kinds of questions. I told ‘em I didn’t know nothin’ ‘bout sellin’ any of our slaves. ‘S far as I know, Batterston headed to the river, tryin’ to find a buyer for our tobacco this fall. That’s what I’m tellin’ Ellie and the others.”
He looked down at her, a kindly expression on his face. “I don’t know what happened, an’ I don’t wanna know. From what I can see, he deserved whatever he got. But,” he glanced around to make sure they were alone, “I don’t think it’s safe for you to stay here. If anyone pokes around and starts askin’ questions…”
He laid a gentle hand on her shoulder. “You’ve worked here eight years now. I think eight years’ worth of wages an’ a horse to travel with ain’t askin’ too much.”
Caitríona stared up at him, stunned. As much as she had chafed at being bound to this plantation, the thought of being turned loose after all this time was terrifying.
“You think on it,” Burley said, leaving her.
Caitríona had to wait until evening to tell Ruth, Henry and Hannah about that conversation. “I don’t know what to do,” she confessed as she finished. She looked up at them, but had to quickly avert her eyes from the expression on Hannah’s face. “I’m thinking about West Virginia. It’s the closest state to where we are. I think Deirdre and I could get there in a few weeks.”
“Just you and that baby, travelin’ alone?” Ruth asked indignantly. She looked over at Henry who was looking back with a questioning expression. Ruth nodded.
Henry turned to Caitríona. “How would you feel if we came with you?” he asked.
“And why would you want to be doing that?” she asked incredulously.
“Because I want my baby to be born free,” he said with quiet conviction.
Hannah’s mouth fell open. “You’re going to have a baby?”
Ruth’s face reflected her happiness only for a moment. “Do you think we can do this?” she asked worriedly.
Henry came to her and placed his hands on her shoulders. “We can do anything as long as we’re together.” He turned to Caitríona. “And you’ll have a better chance of making it safe with us helping you.”
Hannah stepped forward. “You’re not going without me,” she said, glaring at Caitríona as if daring her to contradict her.
Caitríona’s face was radiant as she looked at them. With a sudden rush of affection, she realized that, besides Deirdre, these three were the people she loved most in the world.
“So,” she said, more bravely than she felt, “we’re off to make a new life for ourselves.”
§§§
Conn lay in bed, listening to the soft rain falling outside, mourning doves calling to each other from the trees. “Why do they always call each other in the morning?” she wondered. For three days, she had been waiting impatiently for the next dream. When none had come, she’d begun to wonder if she and her mother had angered Caitríona somehow.
Finally, she knew why they had come to West Virginia. And, remembering Hannah’s last journal entry, she knew when they had left – August 1863.
Kicking off her covers, Conn went to her mirror and stared at her reflection. Even in the dim early light, she could still see the bruises and healing cuts on her face and neck. Like the welts on her back, she’d known that these marks would appear soon after her dream of Caitríona’s beating at Batterston’s hands, faintly, like an echo of the original injuries.
In alarm, Elizabeth had taken Conn over to Molly Peregorn’s when they appeared. “Why is this happening?” she demanded, glancing back out to Will, who had opted to stay in the car.
Fascinated, Molly held Conn’s face, turning it this way and that as she studied the bruises. She also inspected the welts on her back, still faintly visible, like scars. “I don’t understand exactly why this is happening,” she mused, “but there is some connection between them that we cannot comprehend. Caitríona and other spirits have appeared to me over the years, but I’ve never seen a situation this… this entangled.”
“Well, I want it to stop,” Elizabeth said.
Molly and Conn both looked up at her in surprise.
“Mom,” Conn said, “if it stops now, the curse continues. Will –”
“I can protect Will,” Elizabeth said determinedly. “But you’re being hurt.”
Molly pulled another chair out. “Sit down,” she said. Elizabeth sat. “First of all, you can’t protect Will – not from everything. You couldn’t protect him from polio,” she said gently. “Second of all, even though we don’t understand what’s happening between Connemara and Caitríona, the only way to end it is to let it play out to the finish.”
“But what will the finish be?” Elizabeth asked, her voice and eyes troubled.
“I don’t know,” said Molly, “but we can see what the beginning was.”
She went to a sideboard where she retrieved a stack of papers and leather-bound books. “I’ve not looked through these in decades. They’re my predecessors’ journals and letters. Let’s see what we can discover.”
Spreading the documents out on the table, they began reading and sorting, trying to figure out who wrote when and put things in chronological order. For several minutes, they read in silence, then Elizabeth said, “Listen to this.”
Holding a very battered, very old journal, she said, “This belonged to Lucy Peregorn. Her entries began…” she flipped through the early pages, “in the 1820’s. But here…” she flipped back to a page she had marked with her finger, and read, squinting to decipher the cramped handwriting, “in January of 1863, she wrote,
‘Last night I had a most peculiar dream. I was led to Jacob Smith’s abandoned cabin and there, a family of doves be living. Two white doves there be, and three black. There, they built a nest. And as I watched, rocks were thrown, and one black dove was sorely injured. She lay as one who was dead, but she was not dead. One of the white doves flew at the attacker and led him away from the others, but she did not return.
A most strange dream.’”
She turned several pages. “And here… in September of that same year,
‘People have come to the cabin. A white woman and girl, and three colored people. I think they be the doves of my dream.’”
Elizabeth slid the journal across the table to Conn. “I think this is the one you need,” she said quietly.
Conn took the journal as if holding a treasure. “Lucy Peregorn,” she murmured. She looked up at Molly. “May I borrow this? I’ll take good care of it.”
Molly nodded. “There may be things in there that will help you.”
***
Conn got dressed and went downstairs, carrying the fragile journal. No one else was up yet. She made herself a piece of toast, slathering it with peanut butter and jelly, and went out onto the front porch to eat, sitting on the porch swing, and leafing through the journal. Most of Lucy’s entries were brief descriptions of where she had found certain plants or roots she was searching for, or who had been sick or what new baby she had delivered. There were a few Pancakes mentioned, as well as a reference to a William Greene, who had been ill with some kind of fever that Lucy had treated. Conn wondered if this was one of Abraham’s ancestors.
She found the entries her mother had read aloud, and then there were more entries concerning Caitríona and her family.
10th November 1863
I was called to help Ruth deliver her baby. A boy, named Moses. Henry be proud to have a free son.
and
30th April 1864
Today I came upon Caitríona, crying in the woods. She told me it be her mother’s birthday. Such sadness for one so young. I did not remind her there be more sadness to come.
Conn closed the journal as her mother came out and joined her with a cup of coffee. She had been unusually quiet the past few days, and Conn knew she was struggling to accept all that she had learned the night Caitríona came to them and in the days since. Conn was glad she hadn’t revealed everything – the tunnels, Caitríona and Hannah. She wasn’t sure how much her mother could deal with. Grown-ups were funny that way.
“So,” Elizabeth said, a forced casualness to her voice, “what are you learning?”
“Oh, nothing else big,” Conn replied. “Ruth’s baby was a boy, Moses. I haven’t gotten to these parts in my dreams yet.”
“Did you –?”
Conn nodded. “I had one last night. People were starting to ask questions about where Batterston disappeared to, so they decided to leave the plantation.”
They sat silently, swinging for a few minutes.
“Have you thought about writing these down?” Elizabeth asked.
Conn glanced up at her. “I have been. In the journal you gave me. I didn’t want to forget anything.”
Elizabeth shook her head. “Who would believe all this?”
“No one,” said Conn pragmatically. “Which is why it’s probably a good idea not to tell anyone else.”