Chapter 4

 

"Barnyard animals!"

Not being one for profanity, I often replaced common curse words with less offensive, more awkward choices of expression – one of which I exclaimed when I saw the pile of photo albums I had set out on my dining room table three days prior. Having been forgotten, they still needed to be delivered to Josh at the museum before the start of my senior year in high school would not allow me time to do so for another week.

Sunday afternoons weren't typically days that Josh would be working, but I knew his college semester didn't begin for another two weeks and he was scheduled to work on Monday. I could at least leave them there for him.

I arrived to a very quiet museum, empty except for Faith, who stood at the front counter folding brochures.

As usual, her morning zeal was still intact in the afternoon. "Hey, hon! Wasn't expectin' to see you today!"

"How's business?" I asked even though I already knew the answer. The barren parking lot I had crossed minutes before was a full reflection of how business was.

"We had six this morning, but nothin' since then. I don't know, hon." The cheery expression on Faith's face faded and she looked truly downtrodden. "Things haven't been so good the past few years, but this season’s been the worst. The board's going to have a big meetin' before the new year but... I hate to think what could happen after that."

I sighed and watched Faith mechanically fold the rest of the brochures. Frenzied board meetings were nothing new, especially lately, but I agreed with Faith. Things were not going well this year for the Merrill Homestead. Funds were low and volunteers were scarce. Josh, Faith and I could only do so much. I shoved the dark thoughts into the back of my mind and refused to think about what could happen, a reaction that was sadly becoming commonplace.

"I brought pictures!" I said abruptly, holding up the thick photo album. "For Josh and that brochure for the tourism committee. I thought I'd leave them for him to get tomorrow."

"Well, he's in the office right now if you want to give them to him," Faith said gathering the pamphlets.

I found Josh leaning back on one of the conference table’s chairs, his legs propped up on the back of another. He looked younger in jeans and a dark T-shirt. He had a large artist’s sketchpad in his lap. His concentration was focused on drawing something, and it wasn't until I hopped up on the table beside him that he noticed my arrival. But unlike when he snuck up on me, he just nodded calmly.

"Didn't see your car," I said to him.

"I rode my bike." He jerked his head in the direction of the wall where his 10-speed was propped. "Is it a bad sign that I come to work on days I don't have to?"

"It might be the beginning stages of insanity," I joked. "I brought the pictures for the tourism pamphlet."

"Oh, good. I'll have something to do tomorrow," he sighed.

I motioned to his sketchpad. "New hobby I don't know about?"

"I'm designing the new display for the feed and seed store. I'm going to hang farm equipment from the ceiling, see?" He held up the sketchpad that roughly showed the room from several angles.

I leaned forward from my perch over him. "Very historic feng shui."

"I thought so. You know..." He sat back in the chair, balancing the pad on his knee and tapping it with the eraser of the pencil. His dark eyebrows furrowed together. "It's really art, you know."

"What is?"

"Displays, museums. There are lines, placements." He held his hands up trying to illustrate his ideas in gestures. "Lighting, angles." He threw the pad down on the table and leaned forward. He placed his chin on his fist like the great Rodin Thinker over his sketches of the feed and seed store. "Energy. Soul. The placement has life." He paused. "Remember when I took that road trip through the Dakotas and those ghost towns I showed you pictures of? They had some restored buildings there like we do. I remember thinking, this is so cool, like a movie set. How do we get energy like that here?"

"I always think about the people who used to live in... or use the buildings... you know?" I mused out loud. "I always wonder what they were thinking or doing with their lives. Someone had to have had some interesting thought or some story to tell that we'll never know." I pulled my knees to my chest and looked over them at Josh. "I mean, people who lived here had energy. I just keep thinking that if we were true to the people who built the cabin, whatever energy they left would help us out."

"Maybe if we planted some vegetables." Josh grinned at me.

It was true. The only ounce of mystery, the only sign that the family was anything more than Ashford’s first homesteaders, was vegetables.

The only original letter from the family we had found was one addressed to the wife of the household, Clara Merrill, from someone whose initials were G.E., most likely her brother Gil Ezra. The entire thing was a grand ordeal about vegetables − the construction of the Merrill’s vegetable cellar and towns with vegetarian societies in Iowa and Kansas. In other words, extremely boring.

Some idealists like myself on the historical society board believed that the Merrill’s were involved in anti-slavery movements disguised as vegetarian societies. Or perhaps it was a code that was only known to the family and friends of "G.E." But at the thought that a vegetarian society would exist in the Nebraska territory where farming was far more lucrative than national politics, my optimism was dampened in place of the idea that maybe they just really liked vegetables.

I sighed. "They could have had lives outside of vegetables."

Josh swung his legs down from the chair and turned to look straight up at me. "If you wanted to find out more, you should start by looking at the brother. Clara's brother was killed at Harper's Ferry, Virginia. There's probably a lot out there about him if you knew where to look. He visited here a few times. Not that I'm not telling you anything you don't know. Have you ever looked into him?"

I shook my head. "No, not really."

"You should. I mean, he wrote letters and he was her brother. You never know who he might have mentioned the Merrill’s to."

"You know... I always thought... Well... hoped the rumors were true…" My voice trailed off.

"Why do you think the rumors might be true?" Josh challenged me, raising an eyebrow.

I stared at him for a few moments before giving in. "Well, they're mostly just ideas, but think about it. Clara Merrill's brother was an abolitionist. He eventually teamed up with John Brown. He had to have been coming up from Kansas and sending escaping slaves up from Missouri. The cabin is setting right on the edge of the river, just outside of a free state. Maybe that's why the only letter Clara had left from her brother was about vegetables – she had to destroy the rest. That's why there's so little information about them at all. What they were doing was illegal, not to mention there was vigilante law out here in the West. So, they covered everything up." I sighed, "Besides, why go to all that work to dig another root cellar beneath an outbuilding if they weren't hiding something?" I shook my head. "But that's just a bunch of ideas from when I'm bored in between tours. They were probably just over protective of their… vegetables."

"You should look into it," Josh said seriously.

"Just ideas," I repeated. "I'll never really know, anyways."

"You never know." Josh took up the notebook again. "Anything is possible."

Clouds moved over the sun in the outdoors, darkening the room and shadowing the lull of silence between Josh and me. For a brief moment the memory of the two people that had mysteriously appeared flashed into my brain and I considered telling Josh. I drew in a breath between parted lips but I was saved from a lot of explaining when he said suddenly, "I've never been great with art." Josh gazed downward with a furrowed brow as he once again concentrated on his sketchbook. "But this, maybe I could do."

Just then, Faith popped her head into the office. "I cleaned out a display. Josh, would you be so kind as to take some things up to the livery stable? And Sophie, hon, could you take some extra hymnals to the church?"

* * *

O For A Thousand Tongues To Sing.

I stood in front of the pump organ on the raised platform at the front of the church. I had decided an open hymnal on the organ’s music stand would add an authentic detail. After a few moments of contemplating, I set the open book to hymn number 171, Amazing Grace.

I heard a sound as I descended the stairs. At first I thought it was merely the echo of my footfalls. But the moment I realized the source of the soft sound that crackled in my ears, I immediately dove for the floor. I landed face first on the hardwood planks behind the stage steps.

I thought it was ridiculous that I had such an extreme reaction to the sound of raindrops falling on the roof, but I didn't get up.

Between being choked with dust and the cobwebs in my hair, I was coming to the obvious conclusion that the floor of the church was a rather unpleasant place to be. The rain remained light and I had to strain to hear the drops that fell on the shingles of the one room building. I set my forehead flat on the wood floor. You are stupid, I scolded myself. I turned my head and realized that my forehead was sticky with a layer of sweat mixed with dirt. I was practically underneath the stage and the rest of the room was hidden from my view.

So far the only person I had to answer to about my absurd behavior was myself and I wasn't keen on explaining my sudden interest in the floor to anyone else.

I let out a slow breath and decided to count to three.

One... Two...

"Please turn to second Corinthians five-seven."

Barnyard animals.

"For we walk by faith..."

The voice was coming from above my head on the pulpit that had been vacant only seconds earlier. The sound of shuffling about, turning of pages, whispers and the unmistakable thud of a dropped hymnal indicated that I was amidst a full service.

As quietly as I could, I crawled forward and curled up as small as I could manage in the space behind the pulpit stairs. The temperature had risen a marked amount and I could hear the uncomfortable fidgeting of the congregation between the pointed pauses of the minister's speech.

I had established that something along the lines of time travel had been taking place. However, the lack of control was rather frustrating. Not to mention there was no way I could gauge the congregation’s reaction to a purple-haired stranger popping up on the pulpit halfway through a sermon. I assumed it would not be good.

No one had noticed me, so I simply sat there hoping that the pounding of my heart in the chamber of my chest wouldn't give me away. Several minutes passed without incident. I noticed that while I was covered in dust and grime, the floor I was huddled on had become astonishingly clean and polished.

After nearly ten minutes, I had stopped trembling. The minister continued the sermon; the congregation continued to be a hot, mumbling and antsy audience.

Out of nowhere came the guttural ring of a gunshot that made me jump and exploded the dull atmosphere into one of chaos and fear.

"Everyone, out of the church!"

The high ceiling reflected every cry of surprise and fear until the room was engulfed with frenzied echoes. Panicked movement out the door added a multitude of footsteps and soon I could not distinguish between the shouts of the victims and the perpetrators.

As most of the footsteps faded to the outdoors, I made out a voice.

"It's all right, Anna you have your papers!"

I took my chance and peeked over the bottommost step.

Two black women stood with a tall, thin white young man in the middle of the second row of pews. Though I could only see their backs, I could tell the shorter woman in the middle of the trio was crying. The man was trying to comfort her, but she sobbed back to him, "They burn them, papers mean nothin'!"

The taller woman held her friend around the shoulders. "We're free and there's nothin' they can do!"

"That's right," the man said. "We'll all protect you. Have faith... I- I'll pray!"

Just then, a rough and truly vile looking man appeared in the doorway of the church. Though his clothes were worn, they were well made and fit neatly. Dark brown hair escaped from beneath the hat on his head, matching the beard that covered his chin. He held a pistol in his hand.

"I said, everyone!" He flung his arm out and a second shot issued from the revolver, downward into the base of the church wall.

"How dare you?" The taller woman took a bold step forward, leaving the man and woman to shrink behind her. "How dare you fire in a house of God?"

Just then, the man with the gun glanced toward the front of the church and for a fleeting moment, my eyes met his.

I slipped back beneath the stairs, huddling down as far as I could. I pulled my hands over my head and did my best to control my body from shaking. My mind was distracted with the flashing of my life before my eyes so that I lost track of the scene that had been playing just beyond the protection of the stairs.

When my brain found it again, everything was silent. Not a single rustle or hint of movement. Then, suddenly, I heard a footstep followed by the familiar echo.

Silence.

Again, a footstep. An echo.

Silence.

"Sophie?"

I had been holding my breath and luckily the gasping in of air kept me from yelling in relief.

"Josh!" I jumped up from behind the steps. "You're here!"

"Are you okay?" Josh looked me up and down. "Did you fall?"

"What? Oh! No... The floor needs... sweeping. I don't have a broom." I looked around. "Or a mop." I was losing steam. "Or anything."

"Uh-huh." Josh crossed his arms. "You've been acting a little edgy lately. You go back to school tomorrow… Is everything all right?"

"Hm?" I said, trying to keep my voice from becoming too falsetto. "No, everything's fine. Um, I've been meaning to ask you about this church." I changed the subject quickly and motioned about the room. "Just to make sure I'm saying this right… it was built in the 1850's and uh... there were black members of the congregation... it made quite a stir."

Josh nodded and added slowly, "Yeah, it was kind of a big deal before the Civil War. They quit using the building after the turn of the Century. It was moved here from Missouri." Josh gave me an odd grin. "I thought you were the tour guide."

"I am, I just wanted to make sure, you know."

"Yeah. Well. I'm going in, do you need anything?"

"No, I'm good. I'll be in shortly."

As soon as he left, I walked slowly to the back corner of the church. I stood facing the wall for a few moments before dropping to my knees. I held my breath as I ran my hand along the baseboard until my fingers located a perfect bullet hole in the powder blue wood trim.