Morning Star (8 page)

CHAPTER 20

Felicia

FELICIA BURST
through the front door, stood in the hallway, and started to unwind her scarf from around her neck. Delia jumped up from her chair in the living room.

“Look at you! Take off those wet clothes before you catch your death. I'll run a warm bath.” She used the tail end of the scarf to pat Felicia's face dry and started to unbutton Felicia's jacket as she spoke. A wet, skeletal kitten face peeked out at her. Delia drew back in alarm. “What on earth…?”

“Mom, I found this poor baby cat…”

“Oh no!”

“Stranded in the storm…”

“We can't keep it!”

“It doesn't have a mom…”

“No way.”

“Look! It's starving.”

Florence stood in the kitchen doorway. “Felicia, you're home—thank heavens! What's all the fuss about?”

“She's brought in some filthy little animal,” said Delia.

Florence walked into the hall. “Let's see.”

“It's just a baby, Nana.”

“Covered in germs,” said Delia. “Probably has rabies.”

Felicia held the kitten in her hands so that her grandmother could see it. It blinked in the sudden light. It tried to meow but had no voice. “Dodie said I should give it some food and take it to the vet.”

Delia looked at it and shook her head. “And who's going to pay for that?”

“Does that cost a lot?” asked Felicia. She hoped it didn't.

“We'll find something for it.” Florence started back to the kitchen.

“First a horse and now a cat,” Delia said. “What else will you come up with? An elephant?”

Felicia kicked off her wet shoes and slithered out of her jacket as she held onto the damp bundle of kitten. Her mother stripped off wet socks as Felicia stood on one foot and then the other. “You need a bath. Your skin is icy cold.”

“I'll be up in a minute.” Felicia headed into the kitchen. “Should we warm the milk, Nana?”

“That's just what I'm doing. I'm not sure cow's milk is the best thing for a kitten, but it's all I can think of at the moment. Put the kitten in that cardboard box and wrap a towel around it. It'll be just fine while you have your bath.”

Felicia raced up the stairs, stripped off her wet clothes, and stepped into the tub. Delia had added bath salts. Felicia meant to jump in and jump out, but once she settled in the warm, scented water, the sheer delight of it, after her frigid journey, kept her there. She leaned back and let the water soothe and warm her.

When Felicia returned to the kitchen, Florence was washing a turkey baster.

“What's that for?” asked Felicia.

“It might be useful for giving the milk. We'll try it. Wrap that kitten in the towel. It's still shivering.”

Delia sat at the table sipping a mug of tea. “I can't believe we're doing all this for a stray animal that's probably carrying a horrible disease.”

“Did you ever have a pet, Mom?”

“No, never. This is a new experience.” Delia looked at her mother.

“I used to feed the odd stray,” said Florence, “but I never let anything in the house.” She approached her granddaughter, now holding the toweled kitten in her lap. “See if it will take some milk from this.” Florence extended the plastic baster full of milk. The kitten sniffed it, then opened its mouth and began to drink.

“It's sucking on it, like a baby!”

“What are we going to do when the other end works?” asked Delia.

“We'll tear up some newspaper and put it in the box, see if it uses that.”

“It has to stay in the kitchen,” said Delia.

Felicia was entranced with the feeding. “This really works, Nana. I knew it was starving.” She stroked the tiny, bony head with a finger. “Feeling better now, baby?”

Later, the family sat over supper. “Do you have any homework?” asked Delia.

“There's a special project I have to do for school. Maybe you both can help me. There's going to be a big celebration with a play and everything, 'cause the school is one hundred and fifty years old this year.”

“Really?”

“And Miss Peabody has asked everybody in our class to find out about their families, from way back, and then write it up and present it to the class.”

Delia and Florence exchanged a glance. “Mmm hmm.”

“So tell me all about my family. I hope there's somebody interesting. Matt thinks his uncle might have been a vampire.”

Florence said, “I'm pretty sure we didn't have any vampires. My great-grandfather was a cabinet maker.”

“A what maker?”

“A cabinet maker—sort of like a fancy carpenter. He made fine furniture.”

“Okay. I guess I should write that down. Hold on.” Felicia returned to the table with pen and pad. “Who else?”

“My father worked on the railroad as a porter,” Florence said.

“Tell me again about my dad. I love hearing about him. He worked in a bank, right?”

“Yes. He was very good with numbers,” Delia said. “Had a mind like a steel trap when it came to figuring things out.”

“And he liked music, too.”

“Yes, he strummed a guitar from time to time.”

“And?”

“And he loved to read books. He read to you all the time when you were little.”

“He was so young when he died.”

“Yes, only forty-two. The leukemia got him.” Florence reached over and squeezed Delia's hand.

“Are you going to write about me, too?” Delia asked.

“I'll say you're a career woman, Mom.”

Delia's sad expression dissolved as she threw her head back and laughed. “That's a good one! I'm a secretary at a car dealership.”

“An administrative assistant, remember? Any other interesting women?”

“Let me think,” said Florence. “Of course, there's your great-aunt Agnes. She painted beautifully, just like you do. I have one of her paintings in my bedroom.”

“The picture of the bowl of fruit on a table?”

“That's the one.”

“Okay, Aunt Agnes the artist. Maybe I can take that painting to school and show everyone.”

“I'm not sure about that. I'll think about it. Oh, and there's a family Bible with all kinds of names listed at the front. It belonged to my mother.”

“What did your mother do?”

“Raised seven children, that's what she did.”

Felicia imagined having six siblings. She had dim memories of her grandmother's large family, their past get-togethers, tables laden with food and drink, the din of many conversations punctuated by laughter, singing, music. “Didn't someone play the piano?”

“My sisters, Evelyn and Julia. They were very talented. I think Julia even composed some music. There should be a song sheet somewhere; it used to be kept in the piano bench.”

Felicia continued to make notes. “Anybody related to the royal family?” she asked, pen poised above her list.

“Now, there's a silly question!”

“One of the girls in my class said she thought someone from her family was related to some royalty.”

“Oh?”

“Do you think she might be lying?”

“Maybe.”

“Why would she lie about her family?”

“Maybe she's stretching the truth, or it's just wishful thinking.”

“Was there anyone really special in our family?”

“Everyone was special.”

“You know what I mean—really good or really bad.”

“We were all pretty good,” said Florence, “my family.”

“That's the truth,” agreed Delia.

“I wonder if someone from way back in our family liked to ride horses, like I do.”

“Perhaps, but I think their horses were used for work back then, not pleasure.”

Felicia closed her eyes and imagined riding long ago. Her billowy skirt would make it hard to sit up on the saddle. Maybe she'd drive a carriage. She'd sit up on a special seat, long reins in hand. The horse would respond to her gentle tug, and they would set off on a pleasant journey, trotting along a sun-dappled lane.

“How about way back in the olden days?” Felicia's pen hovered over the pad.

“Some of that information just disappeared over the years,” said Florence, “but we do have some things in that old trunk I have. I know my grandmother's grandparents came up from Virginia before the Civil War.”

“How did they get here? Maybe they rode horses.”

“I doubt it. They would have been on the run, and it's unlikely they could afford a horse, unless someone gave them one.”

“What were they on the run from?”

“From slavery, sweetie.”

“How would they know where to run to?”

“They probably received some help. There was a system of helpers called the ‘Underground Railroad.'”

“They took a train?”

“The Underground Railroad was a kind of secret network of people helping other people escape slavery and come north to Canada, where they could be free,” Florence explained.

“I hope someone gave them a horse so they didn't have to walk. It must have been hard,” said Felicia. “Just imagine.”

“Yes,” said Delia, “just imagine.”

CHAPTER 21

Flower

FLOWER STOOD
with her
parents as they said good-bye to the Pembertons. Gabriel peeked over his
mother's shoulder at everyone. A rectangular wooden wagon with one harnessed
horse waited in the drive. Cleo said to their protectors, “Thank you for all
your kindness.”

“We are only doing our duty…what we believe is
right. Go in safety and help others like yourselves.”

When the family was settled in the wagon, the
driver clucked and slapped a rein. The horse responded, pulling it forward with
a lurch. Flower watched as the Pembertons slowly receded into the distance, then
turned and aligned herself against her mother's side. Samuel lay behind them on
a pallet of hay. He moaned at each bump in the road.

Within two hours they reached the Simons' and were
welcomed by the doctor's wife. “Come in, all of you, and rest a while. I've
prepared a small lunch.”

They followed her into the kitchen, except for
Samuel, who was led into a separate room so the doctor could attend to his
wound. Flower stood at the kitchen window, watched as the driver filled a pail
of water for his horse. He chatted with the animal, stroked its side as it
sucked up the liquid, and then placed a handful of hay on the ground at its
feet.

Mrs. Simon looked up as the driver entered the
kitchen. “There's a pump in the yard for washing up.” He bowed his head, his
dusty hat clutched in both hands, and made an abrupt turn. When he came back
into the room, he spread his hands out for her to see, like a small boy.

“That's better. We love our horses, but they carry
dirt best left outdoors.” She ladled steaming soup into bowls as she spoke.
Flower carried them to the table. A jug of water and a basket of biscuits sat in
the center. They sat down and, after Dr. Simon said grace, ate their lunch.
Samuel spooned the soup into his mouth with a shaky hand.

“A good, quiet day for travel,” the doctor
commented.

“The roads are dry,” offered the driver.

“After all that rain!”

“Yes.”

“The babe is well?” asked Dr. Simon.

Gabriel sat in his mother's lap and sucked on a
spoon. He suddenly sneezed, and as Cleo tidied him with the edge of her shawl,
he waved clenched fists in protest, dropped the spoon, and began to cry.

“He's fretful,” said Cleo.

“But nursing?”

“Yes, better.”

“Good. I will give you a paregoric for the
journey,” said Dr. Simon.

“Medicine?”

“It's a special medicine. It won't hurt him, but it
will make him sleepy. If he cries and people hear him, you could be caught. We
don't want that to happen.”

After lunch, they prepared to leave.
Still not well enough to travel any farther, Samuel lay in bed. The family stood
by it to say their farewells. Flower watched as he and her father clasped
hands.

“Till we meet again.”

Flower stepped forward and extended her own hand.
Samuel looked abandoned and forlorn, with the bandage looped over where his ear
used to be and under his chin. She wanted to say something encouraging to him,
that they would soon reunite in a free place. She paused and thought, then said,
“I hope you get better soon.”

He tried to smile at her, but his mouth gave up
right away.

“Courage, brother,” said Eldon.

They left his bedside and gathered at the front of
the house where a horse and wagon waited for them. The driver directed the
family to the back of his rig, then lifted a blanket and the lid of a large box.
“When we reach a certain place, you must ride in here, out of sight. I'll tell
you when.”

As the family climbed aboard, Doctor Simon placed a
small vial of liquid in Cleo's lap. “Just a drop should be enough.”

“Good-bye and thank you.”

“Safe journey.”

The wagon swayed forward as they set off down the
road. The horse trotted for a distance, then settled into a steady walk. Flower
sat dreamily, looked at the stony roadside, the trees with leaves drying to
shades of reds and yellows. After a while they came to a bend in the road.

The driver pulled back on the reins and said, “It's
time.”

The space wasn't large. The four of them lay side
by side, Flower and Gabriel in the middle. Cleo placed a drop of the medication
on her finger and then put the finger into the baby's mouth. He squeezed his
eyes shut in disgust and began to whimper. The box top thudded down in place. An
explosion of dust caused them to sneeze, then Eldon said “shhh,” and they were
silent.

The wagon started to move again. Flower felt close
to the road—heard the creak of rotating wooden wheels, the ping of stone, the
grind of dirt, even the snorting breath of the laboring horse as he drew his
load forward.

The first voice shocked her.

“Good day.”

“G'day.”

The motion continued, sounds intensified: people,
animals, and other wagons. They came to an abrupt stop, and reins were tied in
place. Flower heard the driver leap down to the ground. Someone walked by.
Flower's heart began to pound so hard she thought surely everyone could hear it
and they would be discovered. Her father found her hand and squeezed it. Gabriel
slept on, his breath warm against her face.

The driver returned, another man with him.

“That rain yesterday…the street was a sea of
mud.”

“The roads are dry today.”

“Easier going.”

There was the sudden scrape of the box lid. Flower
held her breath and clamped her eyes shut.

“No, leave that be!” The driver's sharp command
kept them hidden. “That bit's for the Jensons! We'll put the rest on top.”

Six things were thrown into the back of the cart,
landing with thumps above them. The air was dusty again. Eldon's hand covered
his daughter's face, and Cleo clasped her baby close to her.

“Next thing we know, it'll be snowing.”

“That's the truth.”

“How's Jenson? Hear he's poorly.”

“I'll find out soon enough.”

The driver climbed up onto his seat and picked up
the reins. “I'll be off then.” He clucked his command to the horse, and the
wagon moved forward. The family stayed silent even after they left the town and
were again on country roads. Flower fell asleep.

She woke up as the wagon jolted to a stop. The
driver lifted off the supplies and then the box lid. “We're here.”