Chapter 4

 

"Walter, this is Sophie. Sophie, this is my friend, Walter. Walter Owens."

Slightly heavy-set and not particularly tall, he had a comfortable standing posture. Light brown, curly hair topped his head in a manner that greatly resembled a rag mop. He might have been mistaken for a surfer, except his black AC/DC T-shirt and denim shorts paired with classic red converse sneakers made it apparent that the only surfing he'd ever be doing would be in a mosh pit. His casual look reiterated his laid back demeanor. He seemed shy, hanging back over Talan's shoulder until he was announced. Still, I couldn't help thinking that the young man wouldn't possibly be at home in a museum.

"Nice to meet you, Sophie." Walter reached out. I made eye contact with him as we shook hands. His chestnut eyes were alive, enthusiastic and possessed a unique charm. I was quickly re-thinking my first impression. "So, the Underground Railroad in the Nebraska Territory," he began. "The pre-Civil War era is my forte."

"Excellent." I smiled as Talan flashed a double thumbs up in my direction. "Well, I've started some research." I had my box of information ready to present to him. "If you'd like to see?"

We went straight to work, spreading papers and photocopies right there over the museum floor. I felt like a pirate overseeing a map, searching for an "X marks the spot," and this time I was setting sail with a proper crew.

"Who's this guy?" Talan picked up a fuzzy photocopied picture of a young man. The photograph was cloudy around the edges but the image that emerged was of a youthful gentleman in a jacket and bow tie. His hair was dark and well combed. The focal point of the photograph was most definitely the man's eyes. Even after viewing his picture on hundreds of occasions, I was still pulled in by that stare. To add to the mystery, his lips were frozen in an odd expression of smiling, which was an oddity in 1850's photographs.

"Gilbert," I answered Talan.

Talan scrunched up his nose. "He's too modern looking to be named that."

"Well, that's just what it is officially. In all his letters and documents, he goes by Gil. Gil Ezra."

"Gil Ezra!?" I thought Walter was going to tackle me on the spot. "Lawyer, writer, first lieutenant to John Brown in his abolitionist's army Gil?"

I'd hate to know what would happen if the answer was no.

Luckily I gave Walter the answer he was looking for. "Yes!"

"I knew he was in the territory, but here?" Walter looked astounded.

"His sister lived here – the sister he stayed with."

"Clara... Ezra?"

"Clara Merrill." I sifted through the papers until I found the piece I sought. "She married Benjamin A. Merrill in 1840. They moved to the territory in 1854."

Walter inched closer, "So Gil stayed with Clara, when he wasn't in the Kansas area?"

"Correct. He also wrote her a ton of letters. She was his main correspondent. And he corresponded on an above average level." I pulled the box over to me. At the bottom was the tin Talan found, holding several cracked and brittle envelopes. "There are some original letters here, but we only found them yesterday, so I still have to go through them."

Talan got to the box before Walter. "I'll look." He flipped open the latch of the metal lid and began to examine the contents.

"Talan, be careful." Walter didn't look like the threatening type, but I dared anyone with a lighter to walk through the door at that moment. "Those are like the Holy Grail times a billion, if they're original."

"They look original." Talan waved Walter away. "And I am being careful, mother."

"All right, all right," Walter turned back toward me, searching for a distraction from the eluded letters. "Then there was a skirmish here, wasn't there?"

"Yeah, well. That's what they call it." I straightened papers. "Ezra was wanted for various crimes – highway robbery, mostly. It was tipped off that he and his men were at the Merrill cabin. Thing is, only a day before, there was an intrusion at a slave auction in northern Missouri, a town called Logan back in the 1850’s. Ezra and his men were later credited with stealing eleven people, not to mention some horses and firearms, then taking the escaped from there up through the territory." I found a copied letter in muddled handwriting and handed it to Walter. "He wrote letters in Iowa a few days after that saying he was safely across the border with escaped slaves. The skirmish took place early January 24th, 1857, when Gil was spotted and resisted local deputy forces and city officials that tried to arrest him."

Talan's head lifted from looking at a letter. "City officials?"

"Yeah, a number of prestigious members from town were involved, a bank proprietor, some business owners. At any rate, there were shots fired, but Ezra and his men escaped. There were never any signs of the, quote, fugitives, but think about it. If Ezra helped slaves escape in Missouri, had them in Iowa three days later, and was fired upon at the Merrill cabin in between, they had to be here."

I paused, Talan nodded toward me. "Then what happened?"

"Years later, the extra root cellar was discovered, they think beneath where one of the outbuildings stood. We have evidence that the Merrill’s hid the escaped slaves there.”

Talan's brow was furrowed, and, from his next question, it was obvious why. "No one was ever killed here... were they?"

"That's the thing – none of my sources say there were casualties in the skirmish. But none of my sources except for Gil's letters say anything about the Merrill’s or Ezra being active abolitionists until Ezra met John Brown in late 1857. The skirmish took place in January. I hate to make assumptions about history, but I think that the Merrill’s were more involved with abolition than just this one event. They just couldn't afford to get caught so they covered things up. I think they did a lot more that we just don't know about."

Walter held the copied letter delicately between his fingertips. "With Ezra on the scene? You bet." He sighed then voiced the thought that surely has crossed the mind of every great historian, "If only we knew."

I leaned back on the palms of my hands. "Well, once we've looked here, I've got some connections – library, courthouse, newspaper office. Tell them Sophie sent you, they'll give you doughnuts from the break room!"

Walter grinned. "Wonderful." He flashed a look at Talan. "What've you found out?"

Talan looked up from a letter. "What? Oh, I've only read one. Gil had a posse. And Clara let him and his friends stay with them." He held up the smudged handwritten page. "They actually used the word posse?" He looked down at the letter and answered his own question, "They must've, it's written right here."

Walter was examining the rest of the photocopied images. "Who's this?"

I looked at the ghostly old man in the photo. "Edgar, the Merrill’s' oldest son."

Talan interjected, "They had four of those, you know."

"Er… sons?"

"Exactly."

I smiled. "You'd make an excellent historian, Talan."

"If you'll let me."

Walter was rounding up papers. "Why wouldn't we?"

Talan had a spark of excitement in his voice. "We'll be like, ninjas of history and greatness."

I raised an eyebrow. "Maybe just of history. Let's not make promises we can't keep."

There was a clamor from the office and Greer's ill-boding tone. "You done with the weed eating yet?"

Talan grimaced, then quickly jumped up. "Duty calls." Talan surrendered the box to Walter, "I'll talk to you guys later."

* * *

Walter had to leave mid-afternoon to make his evening shift at Al's Pizzeria. They weren't about to let the delivery guy with the best driving record go AWOL. But he told me that whatever places in town he couldn't get to before work he would check out the next morning. I spent the majority of the afternoon setting up the timeline in the spare display box with national events, waiting to fill in the local details once we had them straightened out. Only a few of Greer's business people had made an appearance. Talan finished the weed eating, with a healthy nap, and helped me organize some information. After a long and studious session on the Internet that mostly consisted of Talan and I taking turns sharing viral videos, we stored the research papers, letters, newspaper clippings and photograph copies in the empty display box. By that time, everyone else had left and the sun had set.

"Anything else?" Talan stretched his arms, looking over the dimmed display cases. "I've locked up the buildings."

"Unfortunately." I held up a note Greer had taped to the office door I had just found. "He wants me to find a sign."

Earlier in the day, one of Greer's friends recalled an historical marker across the street for the cabin. When they asked me about it I honestly told them I remembered no such sign. Still, Greer was adamant I look into it, though I think he was less interested in the sign and more wishing to make good in front of the random businessperson. Still, I figured I should at least try to find it, especially after he went out of his way to put it in writing.

But Talan was a good sport. "Wanna look now quick?"

I was going to wait until the next morning, but, nonchalantly opening a drawer in the front counter, I found a flashlight waiting right on top of the random office supplies. With a willing volunteer to accompany me I decided to get the job done with.

Talan and I made our way across the highway. Luckily there were no evening travelers and the night remained quiet and still. The land had been prepared for the building of a summer camp but the project was put on hold. For the past few summers the area had remained a peaceful clearing opposite the cabin. As we ventured further from the road, the glow from the street lamps became harder to see. Due to the cloudy night, we relied solely on the beam of the flashlight in Talan's grasp to navigate our way.

I couldn't really see Talan, but I heard his voice. "Is it a big sign?"

"Historical markers usually are. But it could be unofficial. Like carved on a rock or something." We traipsed ahead. "I don't see anything." I sighed, my eyes doing their best to penetrate the darkness. "I should have done this earlier."

"Would it be farther this way?"

I vaguely made out a black iron fence. "No, it wouldn't be. That's the cemetery right there." Soft streetlights in the distance lit the street that ran on the other side of the cemetery, the same street my house was on.

"Let's go back. It's late," I said. "I don't think there ever was a stupid sign anyway."

Talan scanned the land with the flashlight one last time. "We can always come back during the day. Or make something up, he'll never know the difference."

We started making our way back. I was more than anxious to get home, lazy around on the couch and watch cable T.V. My mind was halfway through a thought about the Food Network when I noticed how dark it really was. The last time I remembered being outside when it was so dark was on a midnight stroll at my grandparents' farm.

But that was in the middle of the country. Not in town. Certainly this area hadn't been country since the mid-1800's.

I jerked to a stop.

Oh no.

"Sophie?" Talan's voice found me in the dark. "Um... Shouldn't we be crossing the road right about now?"

Here we go again.

Talan scanned the expanse of ground with the flashlight but no cement appeared under the yellowish beam. He was doubling it back again when the flashlight gave a flicker and turned off. Talan hit the side of it, then flipped the switch on and off. Nothing happened.

"There… there should be streetlights." He took a few steps closer to me. "Where're the streetlights?"

I let out a shaky breath, then said slowly, "Remember what I said about that shelf in history?"

"We're not…" He looked around. Up, down, to the dead flashlight. He frantically flipped the switch another several times before I took it from him. I shoved the flashlight in my back pocket and grabbed his shoulder waiting for him to speak. Finally, he said, "We are, aren't we?"

I wasn't really one to say, "I told you so," but I took my chances in a more subtle fashion. "Do you believe me now? For more than a moment?"

"I'm thinking I believe you for permanent." He looked around nervously, zipping his jacket to the top. "So... now what?"

I shrugged. "I got back last time."

"Last time?"

"Yeah, but it was snowing then." I grabbed his arm. "C'mon."

"Snow…?" I pulled him toward the general direction of where the cabin was built, and, sure enough, it was there. We stopped at a distance, but close enough to make it out in the dark.

"This is really weird." I sighed.

"And when is time travel not?"

I blew off his sarcastic comment. "It's just... the cabin was here the last time I was on the shelf. Do you think it's possible that I'm going back to the same year?"

"Search me? Until two minutes ago I didn't think it was possible to go back to any year!"

"I was thinking…"

"Excuse me."

I spun around. Talan and I had been so engaged in our conversation that both of us had failed to notice a man on horseback approach us.

I didn't know what to say, but somehow my voice managed, "Sir?"

The man towering over us was finely dressed. His white shirt had a high collar that poked up out of his vest that was buttoned to the top. He was clean-shaven with a small rounded hat on his head, spectacles pushed high on his nose. I deduced that he was not a simple backwoods farmer.

He nudged his horse forward so Talan and I had to take a few steps backward. The man was not looking to make new friends.

"And what are you gentlemen doing out here this time of night?"

Gentlemen?

I looked down at my pinstriped dress pants and black long sleeved button up shirt. Along with my short hair and the dark, I probably appeared to be a man. I didn't know if this was going to be a hindrance or a help.

"We're…" I thought about my last encounter with this niche in time, "travelers. Just passing through."

The rider rubbed his chin. "You know, there's been lots of outlanders coming up lately from Kansas, Missouri, round these parts." He gave a glance to Talan. "Thieves."

Talan was frozen in his place. I spoke again, "I can assure you, we're not…"

"Can you now?" He reached down on his side and slowly pulled out a pistol. The barrel glinted in the moonlight. "I don't think you can."

This trip was not turning out as well as my previous one. "Please, we mean no trouble here."

He pulled the hammer on the gun back.

I opened my mouth to speak but what came out was no more than a whisper, "Talan."

"You know…" The man looked up to the sky as if giving some matter a deep thought. "I don't shoot women. Not even disguised ones. But the gentleman on the other hand..."

I found my voice. "But he's not armed!"

Talan nodded quickly and held up both hands. Too bad we weren’t playing a game of charades.

"If he's a black-den supporter, it doesn't matter."

A gunshot rang out and, as if we were thinking with one mind, Talan and I bolted as fast as we could.

Another shot.

"What the…!" Talan’s voice cracked before he could finish his sentence.

"Shut up and run!" I yelled, even though we were already running.

Two more blasts exploded around us.

I was pounding blind into the night and all the air was instantly knocked from my lungs as I was slammed to a stop in the darkness and fell to the ground.

It must have sounded as bad as it felt, because I heard Talan call out, "What was that?"

I pushed myself up and reached out. I was dizzy, but managed to feel out the prison barred iron. "It’s a fence… the cemetery fence!"

Talan was beside me. "So, we're back?"

"Not," I gasped. "…Necessarily."

"Fantastic."

I started climbing over.

"Sophie, what the hell are you doing?"

"Come on!"

"No."

"What?"

"I hate cemeteries!"

"Wanna be in one permanently?"

"Not…" He launched himself over the fence. "…Necessarily!"

We both hit the ground at the same time, jumped up, and started running in opposite directions.

My speed was hampered as I tried to avoid the stones that jutted from the ground at odd angles. Through the darkness, Talan was not honoring my request for silence. "If we're not back, when the hell are we?"

I fell down at the nearest headstone. My hand investigated the stone and found the bottommost inscription. My fingers, along with the feeble moonlight, helped me to decipher a 1, 8, 8 and 5.

"After 1885!"

"Well, Sophie, that kinda leaves us with a hundred and twenty-four years to play with!"

I got up and stumbled ahead, dodging more stones at my feet. I searched my brain for something logical, but, when time travel, cemeteries and men with guns are combined, I found that logic fails to find you.

After dashing across what felt like the entire cemetery, I finally couldn't run anymore. Nothing made sense. Up was down as I collapsed on the ground. A stone glinted in the moonlight ahead of me. As I crawled to it, my hand fell upon a single yellow rose that had been blown off the stone. Getting closer, the thought that passed through my brain was confirmed.

"Talan!"

I didn't know where he was, but his voice rang back, "Why'd you stop?"

"Quit running, Talan, we're back."

I placed the rose on the marker in front of me. "Hey, Josh."