Chapter 12

 

Someone was home. And, once again, we didn't have to knock on the door.

"Sophie?"

We had not studied the grounds carefully enough or we would have seen Edgar crouched beside one of the farming wagons. He popped up from behind it as we approached, wearing a gray coat and knitted hat.

"Talan?"

Talan waved in greeting. I heaved a sigh of relief. "Edgar! You don't know how good it is to see you!"

Edgar came around the side of the small wagon, and ducked underneath, securing a leather strap in the under workings of the cart. "Thought you were heading out."

"Um, yes, we were. But..." I looked around, but there was no assistance from the gallery. "My, you look taller." He didn't. I was pretty sure from the moment I first saw him that it was physically impossible for the boy to get any taller. "How long would you say it's been?"

"'Bout a month," Edgar answered indifferently, still concentrating on his work.

I bit the inside of my mouth. At least it hadn't been yesterday, I had some time to play with. "Yes, well, we made it down to the Kansas Territory in time for my brother and me to meet up with our travel companion here, Walter. But then… we... we were... uh..."

"Robbed."

The first word Talan chose to utter to someone in the Century previous to his birth wasn’t exactly helpful.

"Uh. Yeah." I scrunched my eyes closed, hoping a clear explanation would lend itself to my sight when I opened them again, but none appeared. "We thought we'd have a better chance to start over up North a ways. We've been walking with nothing for a while now and it's been... it's been a long time." Somehow, I wasn't lying. "We'd be forever grateful for any help from your family."

"Sure." Edgar sounded almost cheerful as he made conversation. "Who robbed you?"

I shot my best this one's for you look to Talan and he shifted his weight from foot to foot and answered weakly, "People who... don't like us."

There was a short silence before Walter stepped forward and said out of nowhere, "Because we're abolitionists."

I stopped breathing. Edgar’s head jerked up and his gaze swept over us. For a fleeting second his eyes met mine. They were dark green. I started breathing again.

Edgar took his hands from his work, slowly wiping his palms on his coat front.

"Let me get my mother. We can at least get you into some dry clothes."

He turned from us. Walter seized my shoulder, and, voice full of panic, hissed into my ear, "I need to know what year we're in!"

"Edgar!" I called out without even thinking.

The boy turned toward us. "Ma'am?"

"I know this is odd, but we've been traveling for a while and we're a little... confused. Could you tell me..." My heart was pounding, but Edgar stood in the same placid state awaiting my question. "Uh. The date. What's today's date?"

"January 20th."

I swallowed. "And the year?"

He paused, but answered in the same helpful tone, "1857."

I waved to him. "Thank you, Edgar."

"You're welcome. Be back in a moment."

Once Edgar was completely inside, I had a new target.

"Because we're abolitionists? Are you outside your mind?"

Walter just grinned at me. "But, Sophie, it's 1857, that's great!"

Talan glared. "Great, how?"

Walter's voice was energized with so much enthusiasm it could have produced electricity. "Gil's first incident regarding the abolitionist movement took place at the end of '54. The time from 1855 through 1858 were his peak years; 1856 to 1858 he was most active in this part of the country. All those letters to Clara you've found, he talks about what he's been up to. We're right in the middle of that time." My apprehensive stare was the only feedback he received, but Walter wasn't phased in the slightest. "So, I'm telling you, Clara knows about it and Gil's doing it, and they're all into it and that abolition line I just dropped is totally safe!"

"Yeah," I could see the neon sarcasm glowing in between each of Talan’s words. "Because guys riding around secretly on horses at night with guns is totally safe. Oh, wait – the 1857 model that tried to kill me!"

"Talan will you give it a…"

"Shh!"

The cabin door had opened again and a man emerged with Edgar. He was slim, like Edgar, and just as tall. From the records I could remember, Edgar was born in 1843 – he was the tallest fourteen-year-old I had ever met. The man wore simple brown pants and a coat fashioned much like Edgar's. Deep reddish brown, almost burgundy, curls escaped from under a straw hat and the rugged stubble of a beard was forming on the man’s jaw line.

The man glanced up toward us and his eyes matched the surroundings – cold, and not just because they were blue. Even from the distance his gaze was defensive.

I had a feeling he was the one person whom I spoke about on my tour who had no known photograph: Edgar’s father, Benjamin Merrill.

Edgar and the man walked side by side around the cabin and off toward a back field, breath puffing out around them with each step they took. Once they started off, Clara appeared in the doorway, motioning us forward.

Her face bore a look of concern. "You've been out in the cold weather all this time? Haven't you any coats or blankets?"

"N-no, Ma'am." I was shivering by this point, and not just to gain sympathy. I was frozen. "They got most everything."

"Yes, Edgar explained. Inside, inside! You're soaked to the bone!" Clara, in a motherly fashion, had touched my shoulders and felt my saturated dress.

"Fell in the creek," I offered weakly.

"So are the boys!"

"R-rescued me from the c-creek," I said through chattering teeth.

"In, by the fire."

Though I couldn't feel it at first, the warmth from the cabin crept over me as Clara gently moved us close to the wood burning stove.

Clara bustled through the room, setting the kettle to the stovetop. "Do you have another set of clothes?"

I held my hands up to the radiating heat. "I don't... but..."

"Oh!" Talan noticed he was still clutching the haversack's handle. "I have some extra clothes... in my bag. The only thing we have is my bag..." He scrunched his eyebrows in thought then looked at me. "Because I was wearing it at the time." He nodded to me knowingly as he semi-secretly relayed his theory about the shelf and its allowance of carry-on items. His logic did make a bit of sense – the only possession I had was my glasses and they had been tucked into my dress, which, thank goodness, traveled back in time with my body.

I sighed. "That doesn't really help me."

"No, I guess not. But..." He still wanted his realization to be helpful. "I have enough for Walter, too."

Clara broke in, rushing a pan of bread in the oven. "You boys, up to the loft and put those dry clothes on." They looked at each other then over to the ladder across the room on which, in the next moment, they clambered up.

"Now, Sophie... It is Sophie?"

"Oh! Y-yes, ma'am."

"We need to get you into something... I have an idea. I'm afraid it wouldn't be entirely proper, but better than perishing of the flu."

I couldn’t argue with her there.

Clara went over to the trunk in the corner and lifted the lid. "Edgar grows out of things so quickly... You're shorter than he is, but not an inch slimmer, I'd say. So this ought to do." She pulled out a pair of trousers and a shirt. "Only thing store bought he ever had and his arms stick two rods out of the sleeves. If you... don't mind that is?"

I had no objections. "It's fine!"

She found a piece of rope in the trunk, closed it and pushed the trunk deeper into the corner. "I'll make a room for you, private. We can hang your clothes to dry when you're finished."

She already had two thick, squared pegs sticking from each of the two walls that met in the corner, on which she tied the rope to one on each end, tightly and quickly. It was certain that she'd done this before.

Taking up the spread from the bed, she draped it over the line, to make a dressing room in the corner.

"Thank you." I took the clothes, ducked behind the blanket and quickly made the exchange.

Besides having to roll up the pant legs, the shirt and trousers fit me so well it was like stepping into another life. My own shoes, reproduction ladies’ riding boots, were still dry inside so I put them back on.

I had never been so grateful to have dry material against my skin. Pulling aside the blanket, I poked my head out. Clara was stoking the tiny wood stove, sending the sweet scent of burning wood across the room.

"Oh, good. Everything fits!"

"Thank you so much, Clara."

She smiled. "Good to see them getting used. Clothes don't serve much purpose at the bottom of a trunk. If you hadn't come along, I'd have turned them into curtains. We did just put window glass up in Edgar's loft." Removing the blanket, she hung my dress and bodice, leaving room for other items. I was hoping she wouldn’t question the blatant lack of 1850's undergarments. At the very least I had left my jeans at home. I don’t think I could have explained them away as a new type of bloomer. Still, I had to deal with the fact I had cut authentic corners and was still wearing very colorful, very modern underwear. I hoped this would be the least of my worries.

"You truly don't mind terribly?" She asked.

"What? This?" I touched the sleeve of Edgar’s store-bought shirt. "Not at all. I'm used to wearing... my brother's clothes. I'm more comfortable, really. I've been doing it a lot lately... traveling..."

She was checking the bread. "I noticed your shorn hair."

"I thought it best... under the..." I shifted nervously. "Current circumstances."

"Yes. Edgar's told me."

I had not intended to allude to our alleged abolitionist run-ins, but I had no choice than to play along. "He didn't mean to say anything out loud."

"It's fine." She was somber, more hushed. "You said you were free staters, but when Edgar told me about your defending him, I knew you must be abolitionists." She cast a look about the room, as if the walls were spying on her. "My brother is Gil Ezra."

She had no idea that 150 years in the future I would write a paper about him. If saying his name to a nearly complete stranger, albeit an active abolitionist, was supposed to have an effect, Gil must have been a very important figure.

I paused and considered many words, but decided from then on out, it would simply be much easier to not think anymore. "I know." I continued, my heart still pounding, though more steadily, as I began to face the idea that I'd have to take many more chances. "I also know that this is one of the only... safe places... in the entire territory. Because of Mr. Ezra, of course." I forged ahead. "I didn't know you were involved."

"I am." She pressed her lips together, and finished, "My husband's not." She stated it clean and simple, but the words had a painful after bite. "Actually." She cleared her throat, dropping her voice to a true whisper. "I'm expecting my brother today."

My heart rate picked up once again. "You? T-today?"

"Yes… I…" Her voice returned suddenly to its normal volume, "Oh, boys, right here."

Talan and Walter made their way down the ladder, damp clothes in hand. All the clothes Talan had chosen to bring from the reenacting rack were obviously only ones in his size. Walter's shirt was a bit tight and the pants were too long, but, overall, it worked. At least they didn't hand over any modern pieces that might have accidentally gotten in the pile as Talan gave his set of wet clothes to Clara. But I wasn't about to let the "boys" turn the tide of the conversation.

"Clara says Gil's coming," I blurted out.

Clara and Walter both dropped the clothes they were holding.

"Oh… well." Clara picked up Talan's vestments. "I'm expecting him today, yes."

Walter fumbled with his clothes and had to try more than twice to get a hold of them. Once he did, he held them tight to his chest.

Clara kept talking, hanging up shirts and pants. "I hope Edgar can keep Benjamin busy... Do you come from an abolitionist family?"

"Our comrades are our family," Walter crooned in a worshiping daze that sounded like he had just come from the dentist.

I snatched the clothes from him and started hanging them up.

Clara finished, "I'll introduce you to Gil. I'm sure he will be honored to meet you. But, just one word." Her voice transformed into a whisper once more. "My husband is not keen to Gil's politics. Slave owners live in town and the accounts in the papers say the debates are becoming dangerous. Well, you've seen it in Kansas. We cannot tell my husband. He has friends, friends that if they ever found out would…"

But Clara couldn't finish.

There was a knock at the door.