“You went to bed early last night,” Lisa said over her shoulder as she deposited the breakfast dishes in the sink.
“Sorry. I know we had a movie date, but I got sleepy.” Abby paused. “I really wish we had spent the time together.”
“You just made me so happy.” Lisa’s smile beamed. “But you do remember I’ll be out of town for two days, right? We’ll catch up when I get back from the seminar.”
Abby racked her brain for any clue to what her mother meant. “Um, a seminar …”
“I’m leaving tomorrow morning for the Inn Keepers’ Seminar in Philadelphia. Abby, I told you all about this.” She shook her head. “I’ll be gone overnight—Mrs. Blank will stay here with you—that’s why there aren’t any guests but the “No Vacancy” sign is posted. Any of this sound familiar? And even though Jack’s around, I’ll feel better with an adult here.”
“The seminar, right.” Abby knew she’d been distracted, but not that she’d totally tuned out Lisa.
“I’ll be busy today getting ready because I want to be on the road early. But since we have the place to ourselves, it’s a good time to get some work done. I want you to clean out the attic, and get it organized. Make a pile of things for the trash, one for the thrift shop, and another to keep. We’ll go through it together when I get back. It will give you something constructive to do.”
Abby glanced out the window into brilliant sunshine and saw Jack putting his bike in the back of the truck. “It’s way too nice to spend the day in the attic. I’ll do it the next time it rains.” With Lisa busy and Jack away, she could grab Jack’s journal and figure out what went on in his brain.
“No, you’ll do it today.” Lisa put both hands on her hips. “Just about the time I think we can have an adult conversation, you revert to this. I’m busy, you’ve done very little around here, and it won’t take that long. Our stuff will be easy and the junk leftover from previous owners will most likely go in the trash. You should be done by lunchtime if you get moving.”
“It goes both ways.” Abby glared. “About the time I think we can have a real conversation, you decide to act like a mother.”
“I am a mother, your mother, which also makes me the boss. Get busy. And by the way, I like being your mother, even when it isn’t much fun.”
Abby’s annoyance melted. “I think I might like it, too.”
The screen door opened and slammed shut. “Hey, how’s it hangin’?” Morton clomped into the kitchen. “Am I too late for breakfast, Mrs. Whitney?”
“Your timing is perfect, as usual. There’s fresh fruit on the table; help yourself.” With a smile for Abby, she bustled out of the room.
“Whoa. You guys have a serious talk or what?” Morton looked at the fruit bowl and pulled some M&M’s from his pocket. “Breakfast of champions. Come on, let’s hit the bike trail before it gets too hot.”
“I have to clean the attic. You go ahead.”
“Okay. Later.” Morton got a bottle of water from the refrigerator, put it back, and pulled out a soda.
“Or, you could help me clean the attic, and then we’ll ride together. You know how much I like to ride with you, right?”
“I hate anything with the word “clean” in it.”
“I’ll pack a lunch.” Abby showed him a pan of brownies. “Peanut butter and jelly, chips, brownies …”
“Yeah, you got me. I know how to take a bribe.” Morton gulped the soda, tried to crush the can, threw it at the trash, missed, and sighed. “I gotta get in shape.”
An hour later three piles had begun to take shape in the hall outside the attic. Abby dusted off her hands. “I can’t believe we moved so much junk. It would have been easier to throw this stuff out before we moved it, instead of moving it twice.” She thought back to packing up the old house, the feeling that leaving it meant leaving her dad behind. “I guess neither of us felt like going through everything then.” She dragged out a box labeled Adam Whitney, running her hands over the name. Another lifetime. She missed him … but the pain didn’t hurt quite as much.
“Abs, check it out.” Morton turned with a flourish.
Abby laughed. “It’s you, not. Where did that come from?”
Morton modeled a hat, tilted to one side. The rigid black felt turned up in a rolled brim on the edges, old-fashioned and out of place balanced on his shaggy hair.
“I moved that old lantern and found a hat box with this inside. Can I keep it?”
“Check with Lisa, she’s into antiques. What else is back there? The hat isn’t ours, and neither is this.” Abby moved the lantern out of harm’s way and stared at the glass globe, searching for a glimpse of Silas; no face looked back at her. Maybe now that they had been … together … he would always be with her in a real way. She hoped.
“Hey, wait a sec.” Morton picked up the lantern, holding onto the large brass ring on the top. “The first time you forced me to be up here I didn’t get it. But whoa, check this out.”
“Yep. Old lantern. Same as before.” Abby rolled her eyes.
Morton lifted the lantern. “No. Well, yes, but there’s more. Abolitionists used these as a signal for slaves traveling the Underground Railroad.”
“Very cool history lesson, professor. But we have work to do.” Abby stooped to fit under the sloping area of the roof and peered into the shadowed space beneath the eaves. A slight glint caught her eye, and she stretched to reach it. The delicate, sticky touch of a cobweb stuck to her arm. “Yuck, this is spider central back here. I hate spiders.” Her hand connected to a large, ridged object. “Morton, help me pull this out.”
“I might not fit in there.” Morton glanced at Abby. “All right, I’ll make myself fit.” He sucked in his stomach and crawled behind her.
Together they dragged a filthy wicker trunk from the recesses of the attic. Abby lifted the tarnished brass handle.
“This trunk is ancient.”
Morton grabbed at the top layer and pulled out a dress, blue and white checked gingham, with a long skirt and attached apron.
“Be careful. That’s beyond old.” Chills crept up Abby’s arms. “Maybe it belonged to Leticia. It matches the fabric that covered Silas’s diary pages.”
“You’re dreamin’,” Morton said. “I know Bill said the Munroes built this house, but that’s a long time ago. Everyone dressed in this kind of stuff back in the day.”
“And this trunk has been hidden back there for a long time.” Abby went to her dad’s box and pulled out a history book on the Civil War, flipping through until she found the page she wanted. “I saw this the last time I came up here. It’s just an old scene, but look at the women’s dresses; they’re the same style as this one. It may not be Leticia’s, but it’s the right era.”
With great care, Abby went through the remainder of the trunk, finding various pieces of old clothing including baby bonnets, cotton gloves, and high-button shoes.
Morton took the shoes. “Hey, they wore high tops, just like me.” He held his sneaker next to the cracked leather boot. “Well, sort of. Abs, you aren’t looking.”
Instead, Abby stared into the bottom of the trunk. She lifted out a rectangular wooden box with a slanted top. When she opened the hinged lid, an old pen and a small glass bottle rolled forward. The pen had a wooden handle and pointed, metal end. The bottle’s interior appeared coated with a dry black substance.
“That’s an old portable writing desk. Bill had one at his store.”
Abby picked up the pen. “Just think; this might be the very place Leticia wrote the letter I found in the Bible. Sweet.” She sat down on the floor and pulled a sheaf of paper from the narrow drawer on the bottom of the desk. “It’s like the paper she used, but in better shape. There must be twenty sheets of it in here.” She counted the papers and stopped near the bottom of the stack. A familiar sensation washed through her, and she shivered.
“You’re cold?” Morton said. “It must be a million degrees in here.” He swiped his sweaty forehead then hung his tongue out like a panting dog.
“Silas? Are you here?” Abby waited and was rewarded with a gentle caress across her shoulders. She smiled.
“Abs. Seriously? What in the freaking world is going on?”
Abby considered brushing Morton off, yet he believed in ghosts. “This isn’t easy. You don’t have to believe me, but promise you won’t have me committed.”
Morton crossed his heart.
“I’m in love with … Silas … and he’s a ghost. And he’s here with us now.”
“That makes me so mad. It’s just not possible, nope, can’t be true.” Morton peered into the corners of the attic.
“But you told me ghosts are real. And then when I agree with you, you freak?”
“Abs, think about it. I’ve been hunting for a ghost my whole life and zip, nada, nothing. You arrive—without any equipment or even any belief, and you hang out with a spirit enough to fall in love?” Morton sighed. “Why you and not me?”
A shimmer lit the space next to Abby. Silas materialized and saluted Morton.
Morton’s jaw sagged. He glanced at Abby and stood straighter. “Yo, General.”
“Private First Class Silas Munroe, sir.”
“What’s your secret?” Morton’s eyes lit up. “Now we can figure out what happened to you.”
Silas’s image wavered. “No, I ain’t able to do that. I made a promise.” He kissed Abby’s cheek and vanished.
Morton ran his hands through the empty air beside Abby. “Did that just happen?”
Abby sighed. “I don’t know when he’s going to appear or when he’s going to go. You’re the expert. Can he ever stay in this world with me? Can we have a future together?”
“No clue.” Morton took his glasses off and polished them on the hem of his shirt. “But jeez, Abs, this is the coolest thing that’s ever happened, like, in the history of mankind. But I guess if you really love him, it kinda sucks.”
“Yeah. Big time.” Abby stopped the thoughts tumbling through her brain. There were no answers to eternity, not from Morton, not from her, and not even from Silas.
She refocused and went back to the writing desk. “There’s a letter at the bottom, but it’s hard to read in this light.” She set the blank pages back in the box, and the box back in the trunk, then went to her room. Morton sat beside her as she read.
“New Store June 1862
I am very sick. Doc Stevens don’t think he kin do nothing. I get weaker every day. The pain in my stomagh gets worse. Auntie Winifred come from back east to help me. I kin’t even get her special beef tea in me.
I am too weak to lite the lantern and hang it on the hitching post, and fear the runaways who seek shelter here wil not find it in these parts. It hurts my heart, even mor than the sickness hurts my stomagh.
Slavery is wrong. How is it William kin fite for the Rebs? Priscilla bandages the slaves who come here hurtin.’ Silas died fur freedom. This life I leave is a strange one. But they are my children all, and I have loved them.
I wish to set the record rite, before I go to be with my sweet Silas and my dear departed husband. The war goes on, will it ever end? I kin’t die peaceful-like with folks thinking Silas did wrong, but I kin’t tell no one, neither. I promised Silas to keep his secret, and I always keep my promises, ‘specially to him.
“What?” Morton edged closer. “What happened?”
“I don’t know. It ends there. We still don’t know the secret.” Her shoulders slumped forward.
“Just when I thought we had it nailed,” Morton said. “It’s even getting to me.”
“We do know this was a stop on the Underground Railroad. That means the room downstairs did hide runaway slaves, and the shackle is real. Maybe we’ll have to be content with that much.” She held the paper with Letitia’s handwriting close to her chest. “She must have died before she could finish this letter. And Silas won’t divulge his secret, not even now.”
“Yeah, sad stuff.” Morton stood up. “I’ll haul the junk downstairs, then I’m going home. I’ve had enough excitement for one day.”
Abby organized the belongings in the attic, taking Leticia’s letter to her room to store in the Bible. Her movements were slow and mechanical. She longed for Silas but had no way to reach out to him. And to prove his innocence meant discovering information that didn’t seem to exist.
Passion morphed into despair as Abby pondered the possibilities.