“Hello, Mrs. Mitchell.”
“Why, Mrs. Thompson,” said Elizabeth as she got out of the car, “how are you?”
“Very well, thank you,” said Mrs. Thompson, who was the wife of Buck Thompson, one of the two men who had brought the logs from Mr. Peregorn when the bathroom was being re-built. Mrs. Thompson had contributed her wonderful fried chicken to the impromptu meal they had all enjoyed.
“We can get the mail,” Conn had said to her mother that morning.
“No,” Elizabeth replied. “There’s still too much tension. I don’t want you down there alone.”
There had developed a clear schism in Largo between those who were boycotting the general store and those who weren’t. If the Walshes were feeling the financial pinch, they weren’t about to admit it.
They had become mildly hostile to Elizabeth during recent trips to collect her mail. The men sitting in the rockers, playing checkers and gossiping stared without making any attempts to hide it. The women were more snide, dropping their voices to whispers when Elizabeth and the children entered. Elizabeth continued to offer a polite “Good morning” to all, though she received no response.
“They’re in a state this morning,” Mrs. Thompson confided now, her mail in hand. “Mr. Walsh was talking about a large order that Obediah Peregorn cancelled with them and took his business to the farmers’ co-op in Marlinton.”
“Oh, dear,” said Elizabeth. “They didn’t give you a hard time, did they?”
“Oh, no,” Mrs. Thompson said. She smiled down at Conn and Will. “Are you enjoying your summer, children?”
“Yes, ma’am,” they replied in unison.
“Have a good day, Mrs. Thompson, and thank you,” Elizabeth said as Mrs. Thompson went on her way with a wave. “Stay with me, please,” she said to Conn and Will as they climbed the store’s steps.
“Good morning, Mrs. Walsh, Mr. Walsh,” she said as she entered.
Mr. Walsh ignored her as he continued talking to a small knot of men gathered around the hammers.
“Mail, please,” Elizabeth said to Mrs. Walsh.
Mrs. Walsh silently gathered their mail. The bell tinkled again as she was handing the bundle to Elizabeth, and Abraham Greene walked in. In an instant, the atmosphere crackled with tension.
“Well, hello, Mrs. Mitchell, Connemara, William,” he said genially, ignoring the others.
“Hi, Mr. Greene!” Will said. “When are you coming back to our house?”
Conn closed her eyes and groaned internally.
Before Abraham could answer, one of the men standing near Mr. Walsh said, loudly enough for everyone to hear, “You know, Joe, some folks just ask to be put in their place.”
The man called Joe nodded, spitting tobacco juice toward the spittoon on the floor, but missing. He said, “I know what you mean, T.R. Some folks are just plain stupid.”
Elizabeth stepped toward the men and retorted, “Yes, they are, T.R. Watts. Some people are stupid enough to think that skin color is justification for treating people badly. Now, I know no one here would be that ignorant and that backwards, would they?” she finished with a smile.
Abraham hastily stepped up to the counter and asked for his mail as the men scowled at Elizabeth, but said nothing further. He and the Mitchells left the store together.
“I don’t know that it’s worth it to keep coming here for our mail,” Abraham said as he walked them to their car.
“Those cowards are not going to chase us out of here!” Elizabeth declared. “You haven’t been threatened directly, have you?”
“Only the kind of thing you heard in there,” he said, shaking his head. “I’m more worried about you.”
Elizabeth glanced back up at the men still sitting on the porch. “We’re fine.” Speaking low so that she could not be overheard, she asked, “Can you join us for supper tonight?”
He smiled his crooked smile. “There’s a difference between being brave and asking for trouble,” he said. “I will decline until things calm down, but thank you.”
She nodded.
“Bye, Mr. Greene,” Conn said as he turned back to his truck.
He winked as he climbed onto his running board. A moment later, he rumbled off down the road.
“Mom, may I go to Miss Molly’s this afternoon?” Conn asked on their way home. “I want to show her that journal entry I found.”
Elizabeth nodded. “Yes, but –”
“– make sure I’m not bothering her,” Conn finished for her mother. She grinned. “I will.”
A couple of hours later, she was riding her bicycle to Molly’s house. Coasting into the hemlocks, she retrieved the journal from her basket, ran up the porch steps, and knocked. Vincent whined, announcing her. Molly answered, wearing an old shirt covered in splashes of paint, a trio of artists’ paintbrushes in her hand.
“Come in,” she invited.
Conn followed her into the dining room where Molly had a canvas set on an easel. She picked up her palette and resumed dabbing a cloud on a painting of a mountain that Conn recognized.
Conn sat on the floor silently, letting Molly work. Vincent lay down beside her and settled his head in her lap. She stroked his silky black and white coat for several minutes.
Molly stepped back, critically scrutinizing her work. “What do you think?” she asked.
Conn tilted her head. “I like it,” she said, “The trees look… real.”
“Thank you,” Molly said, pleased. She set her palette down and cleaned her brushes in a jar of turpentine, wiping them dry. “So, what brings you this way?”
“I found another journal entry,” Conn said. “An important one, I think.”
Molly nodded. “Read it to me.”
Conn carefully opened the journal to the page she had marked, and read,
“‘20th November 1865
Hannah recovering, but inconsolable. Her wounds be severe, but her body wilt live. Less certain be her soul. No sign of Caitríona or the men. I believe this be the fulfillment of my dream, and we wilt hear naught of her again.’”
Molly pulled up a chair and sat. “What men? Did she say?”
Conn shook her head. “No. The last entry before that one was in October, and had nothing to say about any kind of trouble.”
Molly frowned, thinking. “It’s still a mystery, but I think you’re getting closer.”
***
Conn fell asleep that night, still puzzling over Lucy’s entry and who the men could have been. She was awakened by a sound outside. She slipped out of bed and crept to peer out her window. There was movement in the front yard. She could see light-colored shapes and then a sudden burst of flames rose from the ground to ignite a crooked wooden cross which had been planted in the grass. By the light of the flames, she could see figures, maybe four or five of them, wearing white hoods.
“We’ll teach you to respect your betters!” one of them shouted. “And we’ll give that nigger a lesson he won’t soon forget!”
There was a bang downstairs that sounded as if the kitchen door had been kicked in. Conn heard someone outside yell, “What’re you doin’?” She grabbed a flashlight and raced out into the hallway where Will and her mother were emerging from their rooms, panicked.
Conn clapped a hand over Will’s mouth as he was preparing to cry out. “This way,” she said, taking his hand and leading him to the hidden door.
She popped the moulding and the door swung open. “Be very quiet,” she breathed, handing her mother the flashlight and gesturing for her to go down first. Will followed, and then Conn, who carefully clicked the door shut behind her.
“Keep going,” she whispered.
They could hear loud footsteps ascending the regular stairs on the other side of the plaster wall as they crept down the winding hidden staircase.
Once at the bottom, Conn held her finger to her lips to signal silence and took the flashlight, leading them along the tunnel to the fork below the barn. Pausing, they listened, but heard nothing.
“How did you –?” Elizabeth began.
“They needed this escape,” Conn said, knowing her mother would understand who “they” were. She pointed up the ladder. “This goes to our barn, on the bottom level.”
She crouched down at the small alcove and retrieved a candle and an oil lamp. She lit both and handed her mother the candle. “I don’t know how long the battery in my flashlight will last, so use this. Wait until you hear help coming. If it doesn’t come, I think you can stay down here and be safe. There are more candles if you need them.”
“Where do you think you’re going?” Elizabeth demanded, still shaken from the shock of the break-in and the discovery of this tunnel.
“I can get to Miss Molly’s through the tunnels,” Conn explained. “We can call the sheriff and get help over here.”
“I don’t think we should split up,” Elizabeth said as Will cowered next to her.
“Mom,” Conn said calmly, with a glance toward Will, “We can’t do anything against that many men. I’ve been all through these tunnels. You know I’m not alone. I can go faster on my own.”
After what felt like an agonizingly long time, Elizabeth nodded her consent. “Please, be careful,” she said, hugging Conn tightly.
“I will.”
Conn took the oil lamp and headed into the darkness.