Historical Society. She suddenly saw Jake, megaphone in hand, pulling people in from the street like a sideshow barker. The house would never get finished. Or started.
Her phone stuck in her pocket. She stood, slid it out, and dropped it. With a groan, she bent, retrieved it, and stilled her hand enough to punch in his number.
“Find something?” He didn’t bother with hello.
“No.” Relax. Be casual
. She exhaled melodrama and tried not to think of him as the sideshow barker who could ruin her plans. “I was just thinking…it probably goes without being said, but I don’t want anyone to know about this just yet. Okay?”
The quick assurance she’d hoped for didn’t come. Silence seeped from the phone and filled the darkness. “Jake?”
“Um…yeah…well, I only told two people. My niece and nephew. They’re just kids. I’ll tell them to keep it to themselves. They had an early release day, and I just picked them up at school. We’re on our way to your place. They’ve studied the Underground Railroad, and I promised I’d show them the room. They’re really excited about…”
Just kids?
If he’d known her background, he wouldn’t have used that as a defense. “Mr. Braden”—the formal address gave her a smidgeon of power—“we don’t know anything for sure.”
He laughed.
“I’m
sure.”
“But you won’t tell anyone else, will you?”
A protracted pause followed. “You are going to check this out, right? Do some research? We have to find out who Mariah is. Maybe you’re right, maybe she’s just a kid who used to live there, but we have to look at records and…”
We?
“Of course.” If she didn’t debunk the idea, sooner or later it would bubble out of him.
“So it’s okay to bring the kids over?”
Emily sighed and closed her eyes. “Sure. Bring them over.”
“We’re having lunch at McDonald’s. Can I bring you something?”
“No. Thank you.”
“Okay. Be there in about an hour.”
She closed her phone and rested her hand on the bench. On top of the flower.
Mariah, who are you?
Eyes still closed, she traced the name with her fingertip and tried to envision the person who’d carved it. A young girl, sent to dig carrots and potatoes from a barrel of sand, or to leave leftovers here to stay cold? Bored with her chores, she pulls a paring knife from her apron pocket. Or a runaway slave, exhausted, scared, running for her life. Huddled under a ragged blanket, waiting out the night with a shivering child in her arms. Carving a circle of flowers and her name—or her little girl’s—busying her hands to stay awake on her watch, a precious piece of candle disappearing as she worked.
A dog barked, muffled and distant, but jarring in the silence. Emily’s eyes opened.
The old house was getting crowded. The fluffy white dog, the boy in the striped shirt, and now the shivering woman dressed in tatters. Like an illustration in one of her favorite children’s books, would she lead a parade of imaginary friends wherever she went?
With a soft groan that reverberated off the stone walls, she stood and rubbed her back. When her legs were ready to move, she slipped through the opening, nodded toward the woman in the corner, and banged the door closed.
Stopping at the top of the cellar stairs, Emily surveyed the kitchen. Her watch said lunchtime. A loaf of bread and two apples sat on the counter. The fridge held a bottle of iced tea and a package of cheese. Her hand rested just above the waist of her jeans. She felt the rumble, but the pangs didn’t translate into a desire for food. Grabbing her cane from the door handle, she walked over to the sink and stared out the window as she washed an apple.
Cardinal Bob landed on the roof of the shed and called to his mate. Emily shook her head. “Give it a rest. Maybe if you act like you’re not interested, she’ll follow
Her phone stuck in her pocket. She stood, slid it out, and dropped it. With a groan, she bent, retrieved it, and stilled her hand enough to punch in his number.
“Find something?” He didn’t bother with hello.
“No.” Relax. Be casual
. She exhaled melodrama and tried not to think of him as the sideshow barker who could ruin her plans. “I was just thinking…it probably goes without being said, but I don’t want anyone to know about this just yet. Okay?”
The quick assurance she’d hoped for didn’t come. Silence seeped from the phone and filled the darkness. “Jake?”
“Um…yeah…well, I only told two people. My niece and nephew. They’re just kids. I’ll tell them to keep it to themselves. They had an early release day, and I just picked them up at school. We’re on our way to your place. They’ve studied the Underground Railroad, and I promised I’d show them the room. They’re really excited about…”
Just kids?
If he’d known her background, he wouldn’t have used that as a defense. “Mr. Braden”—the formal address gave her a smidgeon of power—“we don’t know anything for sure.”
He laughed.
“I’m
sure.”
“But you won’t tell anyone else, will you?”
A protracted pause followed. “You are going to check this out, right? Do some research? We have to find out who Mariah is. Maybe you’re right, maybe she’s just a kid who used to live there, but we have to look at records and…”
We?
“Of course.” If she didn’t debunk the idea, sooner or later it would bubble out of him.
“So it’s okay to bring the kids over?”
Emily sighed and closed her eyes. “Sure. Bring them over.”
“We’re having lunch at McDonald’s. Can I bring you something?”
“No. Thank you.”
“Okay. Be there in about an hour.”
She closed her phone and rested her hand on the bench. On top of the flower.
Mariah, who are you?
Eyes still closed, she traced the name with her fingertip and tried to envision the person who’d carved it. A young girl, sent to dig carrots and potatoes from a barrel of sand, or to leave leftovers here to stay cold? Bored with her chores, she pulls a paring knife from her apron pocket. Or a runaway slave, exhausted, scared, running for her life. Huddled under a ragged blanket, waiting out the night with a shivering child in her arms. Carving a circle of flowers and her name—or her little girl’s—busying her hands to stay awake on her watch, a precious piece of candle disappearing as she worked.
A dog barked, muffled and distant, but jarring in the silence. Emily’s eyes opened.
The old house was getting crowded. The fluffy white dog, the boy in the striped shirt, and now the shivering woman dressed in tatters. Like an illustration in one of her favorite children’s books, would she lead a parade of imaginary friends wherever she went?
With a soft groan that reverberated off the stone walls, she stood and rubbed her back. When her legs were ready to move, she slipped through the opening, nodded toward the woman in the corner, and banged the door closed.
Stopping at the top of the cellar stairs, Emily surveyed the kitchen. Her watch said lunchtime. A loaf of bread and two apples sat on the counter. The fridge held a bottle of iced tea and a package of cheese. Her hand rested just above the waist of her jeans. She felt the rumble, but the pangs didn’t translate into a desire for food. Grabbing her cane from the door handle, she walked over to the sink and stared out the window as she washed an apple.
Cardinal Bob landed on the roof of the shed and called to his mate. Emily shook her head. “Give it a rest. Maybe if you act like you’re not interested, she’ll follow
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