Point of No Return (15 page)

“Is this the basement to Whit's End?” Matt whispered.

Jack shrugged. “I think so…I don't know. Listen.” They turned their attention to the argument inside.

“No, sir, Reverend Andrew,” the black man was saying. “I'm tired of running. We're free now, and I won't hide in someone's cellar. No, sir, I won't.”

The clergyman spread his hands in appeal and said with a soft English accent, “Listen to reason, Clarence. They'll catch you and take you back to your old master. That's what they're paid to do, and that's what the Fugitive Slave Law allows them to do. Even here.”

The man called Clarence tightened his grip on the hat. “With all due respect, Reverend Andrew, I'm tired of laws that take away a man's freedom.”

“So am I,” Andrew said sadly. “But what you or I want makes no difference for the moment. Odyssey is in the midst of an all-fired argument about slavery. Douglas and Lincoln have everyone riled up from their debates. The town is split in two. My advice to all the runaway slaves is to keep moving north. None of the American territories are safe. You won't be truly free until you get to Canada. So, tomorrow morning we have to get you back on the Railroad and—”

Clarence interrupted, shaking his head slowly. “We can't take another step. Not so soon. We've come a long way and we're tired all to pieces. I have to think of my daughter here.”

“It's your daughter I'm thinking about as well,” Andrew said as he gestured behind him. Jack and Matt took a couple of steps to the right to get a clearer view of who they were talking about. A black girl— about the same age as Jack and Matt—sat quietly on the edge of a cot. She was wrapped in rags that barely passed for a dress and coat and looked as if she might fall over from lack of sleep. Their movement caught her eye. She squinted at them.

“Somebody's at the door,” the girl said softly.

Wanting to hide in the darkness of the tunnel, Jack pushed back against Matt, who stumbled and fell backward to the ground with a grunt. Jack then tripped over Matt and found himself flat on his back in the dirt.

Hands seemed to come from everywhere and hauled Jack and Matt to their feet. Instantly they were both dragged into the room and dropped onto the rickety chairs. Andrew and Clarence leaned into their faces with expressions full of accusation.

“Who are you?” Andrew demanded. “Why were you spying on us?”

“We weren't spying,” Matt stammered.

Jack tried to explain. “We got lost in the tunnel and couldn't figure out where we were—er,
are
. We were just playing football and—”

“We thought we were in a machine in Mr. Whittaker's workroom,” Matt chimed in, “but then we were in the tunnel again and—”

“Do you know what he's talking about?” Clarence asked Andrew.

Andrew shook his head no. “Beats the thunder out of me.”

Clarence turned to Matt. “Where's your papers, young 'un?”

“My papers?” Matt asked.

“Are you free or running away?” Andrew asked.

“I don't understand what you mean,” Matt said.

“Come now, son. Where are you from?” Andrew asked.

“Odyssey.”

“I've never seen you around Odyssey,” Andrew challenged him.

“He
is
from Odyssey!” Jack shouted. “And so am I! And if you don't let us go right away, our parents are going to send the police here, and you'll be arrested for kidnapping.”

“Kidnapping!” Clarence exclaimed.

“Yeah
kidnapping
!” Matt added.

Andrew waved his hands as if trying to bring calm to the confusion. “Wait just a minute. Nobody is being kidnapped. Look, lads, I know everyone in Odyssey. So just tell me who your parents are and I'll make sure you get home safely. But first I want you to tell me how you found the entrance to the tunnel. It's important that—”

“Somebody else is here,” the little girl said.

All eyes went to the door. Another black man stood in the half-shadows. “I'm sorry to bother you,” the man said as he shyly stepped into the room.

“This has turned into a major thoroughfare,” Andrew said with a hint of distress.

Clarence couldn't mask his alarm. “Just what's going on here? Who are you? Are you all together?”

Jack and Matt vigorously shook their heads. “We've never seen him before,” said Jack.

“No, sir. Those boys aren't with me,” the stranger replied. His outfit was worn and dirty like Clarence's, and the sweat-stained hat on his head drooped down like it was terribly sad about something. “I'm a runaway slave who's come to you for help because I heard you were part of the Underground Railroad. Have I come to the right place?”

Andrew was about to answer when suddenly Clarence interrupted. “Where are you from? How did you hear about the Railroad?”

“I'm from Hattiesburg, where any slave with a good pair of ears has heard about the Railroad,” the stranger explained. “I've been on the run for weeks.”

Clarence eyed him skeptically. “You look awfully healthy for a man who's been running for weeks.”

A sliver of a smile crossed the man's face. His eyes narrowed humorlessly under the brim of the hat. “I can't help how I look. Why're you asking me so many questions? Did I understand wrong? I thought runaways were taken care of here. Aren't I welcome?”

“Of course you're welcome,” Andrew said.

“Don't trust him,” Clarence said boldly.

“What?” Andrew asked, startled. “Why not?”

Clarence kept his eyes on the stranger. “There's something wrong here.”

“Don't know what you're talking about, sir,” the stranger said.

“Clarence, please explain yourself,” Andrew insisted.

“I've learned never to trust a so-called slave who'd approach a white man without taking his hat off first,” Clarence said.

“You doubt this man because of his
hat
?” Andrew asked incredulously.

“I'm telling you, sir, that it's one of the first things any slave learns. You always take your hat off around white folks. It's a habit. It stays a habit your whole life. The only ones who don't know it aren't really slaves.” Clarence stood up to his full height as if he expected the stranger to jump at him.

The stranger chuckled and took his hat off. “Maybe we do things differently in our part of the country.”

“Maybe you do,” Clarence said. “And maybe you're a free black man who's working for the slave hunters. Maybe you're one of those treacherous snakes who pretends to be a slave to help the slave hunters find the stops on the Railroad. Maybe this is how you find the fugitives!”

“You've no call to speak to me that way. I think you must be sick with a fever,” the stranger said.

“I can settle this,” Andrew announced, then gazed at the stranger. “Tell me who sent you here. If you've been traveling on the Railroad, I'll know who told you to come.”

The stranger frowned and said, “I don't ask for names, sir. It was an old woman—in a cabin about a mile on this side of the Mississippi.”

“That would be Mrs. Cunningham,” Andrew said with a smile. “Keeps bees to make her own honey, I believe.”

“Mrs. Cunningham. That's right. Kept bees. I remember now. Gave me some of the honey,” the stranger said, obviously relieved.

Clarence folded his arms and grunted his unspoken doubt.

Andrew seemed satisfied and held out his hand. “Come on in. Forgive us for being so suspicious.”

The stranger took a step forward and shook the Reverend Andrew's hand. “Thank you, Reverend,” he said.

Suddenly, Andrew's eyes turned cold as he tightened his grip on the stranger's hand. “Peculiar that your hand doesn't have calluses. I've never met a slave who didn't have calloused hands.”

The stranger's eyes widened. “I was a house slave,” he explained.

“Really now?” Andrew questioned as he pulled the stranger closer. He continued in a low, threatening voice. “That may be true. But unfortunately for you, there's no Mrs. Cunningham who keeps bees. I made it up.”

The stranger jerked his hand away from Andrew and, with his other hand, put two fingers in his mouth and let out a loud, shrill whistle. Immediately, somewhere deep in the tunnel, men shouted. Oil lamps danced like fireflies in the darkness.

“It's a trap!” Clarence cried out.

“Run!” Andrew shouted. “Run for your lives!”

CHAPTER FOUR

E
VERYTHING HAPPENED
at the same time. The stranger leaped at Clarence in a flying tackle and the two crashed onto the table. It collapsed under their weight with a wrenching, splintering sound. The girl screamed. With surprising power, Clarence grabbed the stranger, rolled him over, and delivered a hard blow to his jaw.

The Reverend Andrew grabbed Jack, Matt, and the girl and pushed them to the stairs. “Run!” he shouted.

“Daddy!” the girl cried out.

Clarence jerked his head around and yelled, “Go, child! You know where to meet me!”

Andrew spun around to face the crowd of men as they appeared in the tunnel doorway. The girl and Matt raced up the stairs. Jack followed, but not without first seeing the men from the tunnel pour into the room, their lamps and guns lifted. They descended like a pack of wolves onto Andrew and Clarence.

“What in the world's going on here?” Matt called over his shoulder.

“I don't know,” Jack shouted back, “but I sure hope Whit's End is at the top of these stairs.”

Matt and the girl reached the top landing and disappeared around the corner. As he reached the doorway himself, Jack wished that he would find himself in the soda shop, with Whit serving ice cream behind the counter and kids crowded into every booth, table, and corner. Whatever he and Matt had done by getting in the Imagination Station and pushing that red button—whether it was a weird dream or some kind of ride—Jack was sorry and wanted to put an end to it now. He didn't like being chased by strange men in a strange place. He didn't like the feeling that he and Matt had gotten themselves into something that they wouldn't get out of easily.
Please, please, please
, he thought,
let it be Whit's End.

Jack stopped dead in his tracks. It
wasn't
Whit's End. To his surprise, it was a modest-sized church with stained-glass windows, wooden pews, and, on the far end, an altar, podium, and choir loft.

Matt stood a few feet away from Jack and they shared the same open-mouthed expression. “Where are we?” Matt asked.

“Don't you know?” the girl asked, bewildered.

They weren't given time to answer, as another group of men burst through the double-doored entrance to the church. “Get them!” one of the men shouted.

Instinctively, Matt, Jack, and the girl ran in the opposite direction toward the altar. There they found a door that led to a small room filled with books, chairs, and choir robes. It looked to Jack like a small Sunday school room. Slamming the door behind them, the three fugitives looked around wildly. There weren't any other doors out.

“We're trapped,” Jack gasped.

Matt fumbled with the door handle, hoping to find a lock. It didn't have one. “Oh, great.”

More shouts and the sound of pounding feet on the hard church floor approached.

“What are we going to do?” Jack asked in a shrill voice.

“We didn't do anything wrong, did we? Let's talk to them!” Matt suggested.

“I don't think they're the listening types,” Jack replied.

“This way,” the girl suddenly said and climbed on a chair. A small window peeked out at them from above a tall wardrobe. By the time Jack and Matt reached her, the girl already had the window open and was squirming out like a rabbit from a hole. Matt was next. Jack took up the rear, just getting his head and shoulders through when their pursuers exploded into the room.

“Stop!” one of them shouted. Another man knocked over a chair and scrambled after Jack. His hands reached out and caught the edge of Jack's jeans. Jack kicked out at him. The rubber sole of his sneaker grazed the man's chin. With a curse, the man fell backward into his friends. It gave Jack the time he needed. Like a rocket, he shot out of the window, falling to the ground with a heavy thud. Matt helped him to his feet and half dragged him away from the church.

A meadow stretched out before them to a thick patch of woods about 20 yards away. Near it sat a burned-out shell of a house. All was quiet. Jack was surprised that, in spite of the commotion inside the church, no one seemed to be waiting to catch them outside. The girl was halfway across the meadow and beckoned them to follow.

“Well, Matt—where to?” Jack asked, blinking against the afternoon sun.

“Wherever
she's
going, I guess,” was Matt's reply.

The two boys ran after her.

Jack felt like a frightened deer as they ran through the forest, scattering fallen leaves, tripping on branches, and leaping over giant logs. A breeze caught the tops of the trees in steady crashes that reminded Jack of waves on a beach. They slowed down only when they were sure they weren't being followed. Jack collapsed against a log and clutched his aching side as Matt fell into a pile a leaves.

“No,” the girl said, “not yet. We have to go on. It's not far.”

“What's not far?” Jack groaned. The girl hardly seemed winded. Where did she get the energy?

“Come on,” she said and jogged onward.

Matt rolled his eyes and struggled to his feet. “Guess we'd better go,” he said as he stumbled after her.

Jack pushed off the tree and dutifully followed.

They crossed a large field that was autumn brown and baking in the sun. It felt soothingly warm after the coolness of the woods. Jack wanted nothing more than to lie down right there and bask in it. But the girl continued on relentlessly. They soon came upon another thicket that was abruptly scarred by a dirt road. Crossing it with careful looks in both directions, they entered a small grove, and finally the girl stopped in a clearing within sight of the road.