“What is this?” Abby drew in a breath, suspecting the answer even as she asked the question.
“No way.” Morton shook his head. “I can’t believe it. I’m right about this place.”
A shudder went up Abby’s spine. She couldn’t take her eyes off the object. “It’s a handcuff.”
“Yeah, but lots worse.”
“Bring the lantern closer.”
Abby turned on her flashlight, picked the artifact back up, and held it in front of the two light sources. The semi-circular piece of metal hung open at one end, with a length of short chain attached. A metal peg dangled from a hole on the side. When she put the peg through the hole, it closed tight. She winced at the metallic click.
“There’s some kind of writing on this tag, but it’s still too dark to read. Let’s go up to my room.” Abby passed the handcuff to Morton then rubbed her hands against her thighs. “You take this … thing. I’ll carry Kitty. We can come back later for the ladder.”
Morton shoved the metal into the waistband of his shorts and scrambled up the rungs with the lantern, groaning as he stretched for the stairs. He peered into the room below at Abby. “Can you see okay to climb with the cat? ’Cause I’m out of here, Abs.”
Scooping Kitty up in one arm, she ascended. “I’m right behind you.”
Abby set Kitty down on a step and watched her streak past Morton. She balanced on the very top of the ladder and hoisted herself up, careful to avoid the broken step. The murmur of familiar voices drifted into the stairwell from the other side of the partition. Morton and the handcuff could wait a few more minutes. She put her ear against the plywood, careful to avoid protruding nails and splinters.
“Let me get you a drink, sweetie,” Lisa said. “You must be hot.”
Jack laughed. “You know it. You’re making sure I get a good work-out.”
Abby located a small hole in the divider and peered through. At first she blinked in the bright light; when her eyes focused she saw the corner of the kitchen, by the back door. Jack stood there, lounging against the frame, face red and sweaty.
Lisa walked over and handed him a can of pop. “Here you go, honey. Nice and cold.” She reached up and smoothed the hair off his forehead.
Abby’s stomach roiled. Sweetie, honey, touching? Since when did they become such good pals? Something wrong, very wrong, went with this picture.
Jack set the can on the counter. “Thanks—for everything.”
Lisa smiled. “You’re welcome—for everything.” She reached up and put her arms around his neck, hugged him, and kissed his cheek.
Jack hugged her back, and then pulled away. “What about Abby? You haven’t told her yet, have you?”
“No, I’m not sure she’s ready.” Lisa sighed. “Soon, I hope. It would make everything so much easier.” She rubbed a smudge of dirt off his cheek. “I love you and want her to know.”
“Yeah, well, you’ll know when the timing is right. I have to get back to work.” Jack sauntered out the door, and Abby heard Lisa’s footsteps fade out of the kitchen.
Lisa and Jack? Together? Abby stopped her thoughts before she had to puke. She climbed over the broken step and raced up the remaining stairs toward the light at the top. She emerged into the third-floor hallway and paused to gaze around, blinking as if she had awakened from a nightmare. The image of Jack’s bed in the barn, the sheets always rumpled, the blanket on the floor, swam into her mind. And the time she found Lisa’s shoes, discarded right inside the barn door.
The sun streamed through the windows, the scent of lilac lingered, and from outside a birdsong pierced the air. Abby went into the bathroom, sponged her face with a washcloth, and took two Tylenol. Back at the door of her room, she stopped. The handcuff on her unmade bed looked out of place next to the crisp sheets. Everything about the day had become disjointed and out of place.
Kitty jumped onto the bed and sniffed the object lying there. With a soft growl she hopped to the floor and left. Abby watched her go, entered the room as if in a trance, then sat abruptly on the mattress. It bounced and the springs squeaked.
“Abs, you okay? You look kinda pale or something.” Morton peered into her eyes. “Maybe we should get the doctor to check you out. There’s blood and everything.”
“No, I’m fine.” Abby reached up and probed the wound, wincing. “Just a little cut. It’s this—thing—that’s freaking me.”
She held back the “thing” about Lisa and Jack. No need to share that with Morton. Now it made sense that Jack saw her as a kid; he just happened to be involved with her mother. Instead of a boyfriend, would she get a stepfather? Disgusting.
She focused on the handcuff. “I saw a picture of something like this in my dad’s Civil War book.” She shuddered. “Is it a … slave shackle?”
“Yep.” Morton showed her a picture on his phone labeled Authentic Antique Iron Slave Shackle, 1800’s.
Abby carried it to the window and held it up in the light. She examined a round metal tag, attached with a twisted, figure-eight-shaped length of rusted wire. “I see a date, 1822, and the initials H.C.” She looked closer. “There’s something engraved on the metal button where it’s attached: T. H. PORTER.” She pulled a sock off the floor and rubbed at markings above and below the name, gasping as the dirt fell away. “Morton, check this out. Above the name is the word DEALER, and below it says IN SLAVES.
She thrust the shackle at Morton. “Someone kept slaves here. This is awful. I didn’t even know people in Pennsylvania had slaves. I thought they all lived in the South and worked on plantations. We were supposed to be the good guys.” Goose bumps traveled up her arms.
“Don’t you get it?” Morton’s eyes gleamed. “Slaves weren’t kept here. They were hidden here. Your house must have been a stop on the Underground Railroad. How cool is that? We’ll get someone in from the Historical Society. Maybe even National Geographic will come and take pictures. We’ll be famous, Abs. You and me on the cover of Archeology Magazine. They’ll excavate the whole place. We’ll get a plaque on the wall with our names on it.”
Abby shook her head. “No way. Not right now. There’s too much other stuff going on. Besides, we don’t know if it’s such a big deal. Maybe someone collected Civil War memorabilia and this piece got lost. It might not mean anything.”
“But …”
“You can’t tell anyone yet. We’ll look around ourselves, and if we find anything else, I’ll talk to my mother. Promise to keep it a secret? The room and the shackle?”
“Abs …” Spit flew out the corner of Morton’s mouth.
“It’s my house. We’ll do it my way. Okay?”
“You just want Jack to be part of this instead of me.” Morton’s cheeks flushed “I’m the fat kid with a sick mom and no friends, and he’s the handsome, mysterious foreign guy. I get it. That’s stupid, but you’re right, it’s your house. Next time call him to get you out of whatever hole you fall in.” He threw the shackle back on the bed, where it landed with a clang, then stomped down the stairs.
Abby hung her head and winced at the faint slam of the front door. Kitty sauntered back into the room; she picked the cat up and held her close.
“I can’t worry about Morton right now,” Abby murmured into Kitty’s fur. “I’ll straighten it out with him later. I know you can keep a secret, right?”
Kitty purred, then struggled out of Abby’s arms and jumped onto the rocking chair for a nap. Abby wrapped the shackle in an old Hilton Head Island sweatshirt, shaking her head at the irony of a slave shackle in a sweatshirt from South Carolina. But there were more pressing problems.
Lisa clearly couldn’t be trusted. She had to be confronted about her affair with Jack. Head on, no bullshit. How embarrassing to have been attracted to a guy even in a minimal way, only to find out his taste ran to older women. Much older.
“I can’t deal with it, not alone. But there’s no one else to help me.” Abby’s stomach heaved, bringing a foul, burning sensation into her throat. Her head and heart battled for which could pound the hardest.
“Abigail … you ain’t alone.”
Silas materialized by the window, translucent but very real. He nodded and sent her a smile of warmth and compassion, while floating over the bed to her. His arms opened wide and closed over her shoulders.
Abby experienced the embrace of a cool, steadying presence wrapped around her. She stood for several minutes in the oasis, eyes closed, leaning into the comfort. “This isn’t the way the world works. How can you be here with me?”
“I swear on my ma’s Bible, I don’t know.” Silas stroked her hair.
“Maybe time doesn’t matter when two souls are meant to be together?” Abby experienced his substance, from the rough wool under her cheek, to the gentle touch on her hair, to the joy coursing through her veins.
Silas hugged her tighter. “This time I’ll protect you. ”
Abby opened her eyes and gazed into his face, seeing strength, determination, and love. She closed her eyes once again as she raised her lips to him.
Silas brushed a kiss across her mouth, murmuring, “Sweet Abigail.”
Heat flowed through Abby until suddenly, a sense of loss displaced desire. She stood alone in the room; Silas had left. But she knew he would be back. And that whether she understood it or not, everything she’d thought or imagined had now changed forever.
She touched her lips that had been pressed against his, squared her shoulders, and marched downstairs to confront her mother.
Because of Silas, her life once again had meaning. Her love had a home.