Dear Austin: Letters From the Underground Railroad Read online

  I headed as fast as I could for Possum's house. (Jupiter's pa had come for him in the wagon to take him home.) Luckily there is a big oak tree standing under Possum's bedroom window. I tossed up a pebble to wake him, and he was quick to climb down the tree to join me.

  We headed for the woods that would take us to Tully's smokehouse. The moon was big and bright enough to light our way, and the pine needles on the ground felt soft as a carpet under our bare feet. There's something special about walking through the woods, when it's all shadows and moonlight.

  We stopped by the crick to check Possum's frog houses. He's made them all along the bank. They're holes he's dug into the mud and covered with twigs and leaves. We were hoping that Plug Ugly might find his way back to his house, which was the biggest, but there was no sign of him.

  Then we hung around the crick making leaf boats and having races. The moonlight was so bright we could see clear downstream to the bridge. When we smelled a skunk, we decided to get out of there fast and headed home.

  We were having such a fine time that we never did see to the light behind Tully's smokehouse. But I intend to get to the bottom of this before the summer is over. All in all it was a good night, until I climbed back up to, my room to find Miss Amelia there “waiting for me! It was just my luck that she had woken up in the middle of the night with a misery in her neck and noticed that I wasn't in my bed. For this small offense, Miss Amelia has burdened me with a punishment so cruel and horrible, I “wonder if I shall live through it.

  I am to take dancing lessons!

  Austin, I fear Miss Amelia is developing a real cruel streak in her, and with you gone, I am left to suffer alone under it! Dancing lessons at prissy Mrs. Simpson's! Why, going up against Old Man Grissard's bull was a piece of cake by comparison.

  Your aggrieved brother, Levi

  June 2, 1853

  Dear Austin,

  Today started off bad, took a turn for the worse, and ended up pretty near perfect. I woke up to find Essie in a bad mood. You know our Essie is the best-natured cow there ever was, but I could tell right away that something was wrong this morning, for when I put my bucket down beside her, she kicked it hard. I shouldn't have ignored that kick, but I did, and when I went to pull on her teat to let down her milk, she near kicked the bucket across the barn!

  Miss Amelia said Essie most likely was suffering one of her spells, and I had to pick her some comfrey leaves to make up a poultice. As the day wore on, I was wishing that Essies kick had knocked me instead of the bucket across the barn, so's I wouldn't have to go to the dreaded dancing lessons that afternoon. The whole rest of the morning was ruined, on account of I -was counting the hours and minutes until Miss Amelia called me to come and “wash.”

  That -was the first torture. She scrubbed my fingernails with pine-tar soap and dug out the dirt with a nasty little pick for what seemed like hours. When I complained that they didn't even look like my fingers anymore, Miss Amelia just smiled and kept on scrubbing. Next I had to get into a collared shirt that had been starched so stiff you could have sailed me down the crick on it.

  Of course I had to put on my Sunday shoes, and Miss Amelia showed no sympathy for my squashed toes. As if this weren't enough for a boy to suffer through, my head was attacked next.

  Miss Amelia moaned how she forgot to buy the hair pomade down at Miller's store, but she supposed a little lard would do. Finally she stood me in front of her looking glass and smiled with satisfaction.

  “There now.” She sighed. “How do you feel?”

  I stood there staring into the glass, all scrubbed, picked over, collared, squashed, and slicked down with lard.

  “Miserable,” I muttered through clenched teeth. “Jest plain miserable.”

  But that didn't waver Miss Amelia from her mission. She told me how she hoped that I would be a big success at Mrs. Simpson's. And looking at me now, she didn't see any reason why I shouldn't be. “This will be your moment,” she declared. “Your moment to shine.”

  “If I have to go through all this pain to have one shining moment,” I told her, “I'd as soon keep my moments on the dull side.”

  “Promise me,” she insisted. “Promise me you'll act like a gentleman.” So of course I had to promise, ‘cause even though Miss Amelia ain't really our ma, she fusses over me the same as any ma would. And I guess I can't complain. It's not every person who'll take in a boy with wild ways.

  When we finally did arrive at Mrs. Simpson's, we found five girls and only three boys in the dancing group. There were the three sorry-looking Podorsky sisters, all sour-faced and poury, little Addie Rudder, who's only seven years old, and Tessa Buckman, who is probably the most beautiful girl in all of Sudbury, maybe in all of Pennsylvania! I felt a powerful round of hiccups coming on just looking at her.

  Lester Minter, Henry Fenton, and I made up the boys. Henry had been clever enough to take music lessons, which got him out of dancing, as he was needed to play the riddle. That left Lester and me to be tortured. Lester, being the kind of boy who was brought up on prunes and proverbs, is known for two specialties. His spelling ability (he wins every spelling bee) and his scab picking. Lester is never without a scab he can pick. In the summer he's got them mostly on his knees, but when cool weather comes and his legs are covered, he starts in on his arms. He takes his time and goes at it real slow. But he wasn't picking any scabs on his legs today, for his ma was bragging to Miss Amelia and Mrs. Simpson how she had gotten Lester a pair of fancy store-bought britches “special for the occasion.”

  “Why, he's turned out like a perfect little gentleman,” Mrs. Simpson cooed. All the girls were giggling and smiling (even Tessa Buckman) as if Lester the Scab Picker had somehow been turned into Lester the Prince! Lester was swelling like a bullfrog, and his mother was beside herself with pride.

  I felt bad for Miss Amelia, who kept shooting me withering looks as she sat waiting for my shining moment to happen. I wouldn't want anything like fancy store-bought britches for myself, of course, but for Miss Amelia's sake, and maybe even Tessa Buckman's, I almost wished I had me a pair!

  Later Mrs. Simpson was pairing us up, and didn't she pick the most beautiful girl in the room for the bullfrog's partner. You should, have seen Lester gloat as he took Tessa Buckman's hand.

  Naturally, as things were going from bad to worse, I was paired with Margaret Podorsky. Skinny old Margaret Podorsky never smiles and is in the habit of chewing on the ends of her braids, leaving her hair ribbons all slimy with spit. If that ain't attractive enough, she's got the stink of camphor on her, as her ma still rubs her thumbs with some evil-smelling concoction so she won't suck them, even though she's nearly ten years old.

  I gritted my teeth, hiccupped, and took Margaret's stinky hand. While Mrs. Simpson was xplaining about “twirling your partners,” a big bottle fly flew in from the window and buzzed our heads. My hair was so thick with lard, didn't that fly dive down and land right on the top of my head! To make things worse, it got stuck in the lard and couldn't take off.

  Of course Lester, being the “perfect little gentleman,” couldn't let this go unnoticed and called to Tessa Buckman to “take a look at Levi the Fly Catcher.” Even Henry was giggling as he played.

  I shot Lester a dirty look, and as I twirled Margaret in a turnabout, I reached with my free hand and grabbed for the fly, pulling it off my head. Of course I knew better than to wipe it and the glob of lard from my fingers on my clean britches, so I reached over and used the back of Margaret's dress as she spun around. This caused a loud shriek from Mrs. Simpson. How'd I know that she'd be looking just then? Somehow I don't think this was the shining moment that Miss Amelia was dreaming about.

  The rest of the lesson was just plain tiresome, what with all the bowing and the two steps forward and two steps back.

  That night, Possum came to sleep over, and guess who came with him? Plug Ugly! Didn't he find his way back to his frog house by the crick!

  I perked up considerable on hearing this n
ews and seeing Plug Ugly's ugly face. Possum has a good little cage made of twigs for him. We three slept out in the hayloft. We stayed up late looking at the stars and talking about frogs and flies and Plug Ugly's bumpy back. (He's got more bumps on it than any frog Possum's ever caught.)

  We talked a lot about our club and how we had to work harder at being alert, on account of it could be downright dangerous if we weren't. I wish you were here and could be in our club, Austin, ‘cause you know all about being a real daredevil. If you were here, I don't think there would be anybody who'd object to making you president of the club, what with all the danger you faced on the wagon train. But with you so far off, I guess I'll have to keep the job. Possum says that I make a pretty good president, ‘cepting for my hiccups. It was such a good night, I almost forgot about my punishing day.

  I was trying to recall what kind of punishments you had when you lived at home, Austin, and try as I might, I couldn't remember any. I don't know how you managed to ward them off so well. I seem to have a natural talent for attracting them. I suppose it has something to do with my being so responsible.

  I know you are busy working the claim, but if you find the time, I'd sure like to hear from you. There may be an entire country separating us, Austin, but I know I can always tell my troubles to you. And sometimes that makes you seem mighty close.

  Your brother, Levi

  June 8, 1853

  Dear Austin,

  Possum, Jupiter, and I have had our first swim over at the swimming hole. The water was cold at first, but we warmed up, jumping off the rope swing. Harley Rush showed up and began to climb the hillside to Widow s Rock. You know how high that is, Austin. Only the best divers dare to go off it. When Harley got to the top, he called down to us, daring us to dive. We didn't pay him any mind until we heard a familiar bark and looked up to see Whistle coming round behind him! Whistle must have followed Harley up the trail while we were in the water.

  Harley's bigger and stronger than the three of us put together. He's also got a real mean streak in him, and when he caught sight of Whistle, he pulled a piece of beef jerky from his pocket and held it out for him. Jupiter, Possum, and I were all whistling for Whistle to come down. But that hound loves two things in this world: Jupiter and beef jerky. And as good as Jupiter must smell to him, I guess beef jerky just smells better.

  When he put his nose in Harley s hand, Harley wrapped his arms around him and laughed.

  “Looks like this dog is the only one brave enough to take my dare and dive off Widow's Rock,” he yelled down to us.

  “Leave him be, Harley,” I shouted back up.

  “I'll leave him be if one of you comes on up and takes his place. But if you don't dive, the dog does,” he threatened, holding Whistle out over the water. None of us doubted he'd do it.

  I started to swim for the bank, but Jupiter grabbed on to my arm and pulled me back. His jaw was clenched shut and his eyes were stony with determination. I knew he'd made up his mind to go. Possum and I watched as he climbed out of the water, got into his britches, and made his way up the trail to Widow's Rock. When he got to the top, he stopped.

  I held my breath, wondering what he'd do next, on account of I know that Jupiter is scared to death of high places. When he sits in the hayloft, he never goes near the window or climbs up to the rafters the way Possum and I sometimes do.

  Jupiter lifted his arms over his head. Everyone grew silent as he closed his eyes. We waited. And waited, and waited some more.

  “If you ain't going to do it, move over and let your dog here have a go at it,” Harley finally declared. “I ain't waiting all day.”

  Jupiter took a step forward, and afore I knew it he had jumped! He shot down like a bullet to the bottom, and was pretty shook up when he surfaced, but Possum and I got ahold of him and helped him to the bank. We told him it was the bravest thing we ever saw anybody do!

  Whistle had come back down the trail after Harley let him go, and he was licking Jupiter's face, thanking him, I suppose, for being brave enough to jump off of Widow's Rock.

  Walking through the woods on our way home, we came upon some good lengths of hickory that somebody had cut and left. So we grabbed some rods and decided to make walking sticks out of them when we got home.

  The next day when Jupiter's pa, Winston, was driving to the feed mill, he stopped his wagon by the woodshed to talk to Jupiter and me. Winston is a broad-shouldered man—do you remember?—with a row of pink stripes running down the side of his dark-skinned face. Jupiter's face is blacker than his father's but free of stripes, and Winston says that he intends to see that it stays that way.

  Folks tell how Winston got those scars afore he got his freedom, when he was a slave. I like Jupiter's pa, ‘cause he always smiles when he sees us and asks, “How you menfolk doing today?”

  When he asked us this afternoon, I told him how we wanted to do some whittling, as we had some hickory cut.

  “A good whittler needs two things,” Winston said, taking a length of hickory from my hand. “First, you needs patience > ‘cause you can't hurry de wood. And second, you needs what dey call a ‘whittler's eye.’”

  Jupiter and I looked at each other and squinted our eyes. “Like this?” I asked.

  Winston laughed and shook his head. Winston laughs real easy, especially when he's around menfolk like Jupiter and me. “Unless you have a notion to lose a few fingers, I think it best if you keeps your eyes open,” he said. “With a whittler's eye, a body can see clear through de wood to de thing it is he wants to whittle. Once you can see that,” he said, “all you have to do is shave off de extra wood around it.”

  Jupiter and I got out our knives and stared hard at the hickory rods we had chosen. I am making a walking stick for Reuben, since you said he likes to wander through the woods picking berries and leaves for his concoctions. I will bring it with me on the wagon train next spring. I wanted to fashion the head of a pirate for the handle. But so far it looks more like a turnip with a nose!

  Jupiter's stick is coming out much better than mine. He is making a smaller walking stick for his sister, Darcy. He's decided that the top of the stick should be shaped like a bird, a nightingale. I wish you could see the two little wings he's carved. They look so light and feathery that you'd expect them to start flapping!

  I wonder what Darcy will say when she sees her stick. I guess she'll probably start to sing! I don't imagine Reuben will sing when he sees old turnip head, but I hope he likes his stick enough to make use of it.

  Your brother, Levi

  June 16, 1853

  Dear Austin,

  I am still being tortured with dancing lessons, but I've been bearing up as best I can. The only good part is -when I get Tessa Buckman as my partner. Yesterday I had no flies on my head and only stepped on her feet twice, so I think I made a fair impression.

  This is a short letter, as I have been helping Possum and his pa bring in their hay, and I am mighty tuckered out at the end of the day. We're not big enough yet for pitching, so Possum and I have been raking. Today Possum's pa showed us how to use the big bullrakes. It was tricky at first, but we finally got the hang of it and raked right alongside Nat, the hired man. Nat's all right, ‘cepting he ate some beans that were talking behind his back and we had to keep our distance!

  We've been holding our club meetings up in Possum's barn. Since we've decided to make you an honorary member, Austin, I guess it's all right for me to tell you what we're planning. First off, we're going to hunt down the thieves that got away from Miller's store. Next we're going to find out about the mysterious light at Preacher Tully's place. And last we're going to find a remedy to stop hiccups. Possum and Jupiter don't mind my affliction so much, but if we decide to take in new members, well, I just figure it would look more dignified if our president could face danger without hiccupping.

  So I'm needing your help, Austin, not with tracking down the thieves or uncovering the mystery of the light. Those will be easy tasks. But curing my hiccup
s—now, that's another matter altogether. It's akin to trying to put socks on a rooster. I just don't know if it can be done. Miss Amelia says that I'll outgrow the habit, but I -was hoping you'd have some suggestions until I do.

  Last night I had a bad nightmare. I dreamed that I found the thieves. But I was hiccupping so much that they just laughed and picked me up and carried me to Widow s Rock and threw me off. Do you ever have nightmares, Austin? Do you think I can outgrow them, too?

  Your brother, Levi

  July 15, 1853

  Dear Austin,

  It was good to get your letter. Thank Reuben for the hiccup cure. Jupiter and I spent all afternoon picking elderberries and pine needles for the tea. I drank five cups and didn't hiccup once (of course, I wasn't nervous about anything at the time, so I guess I'll just have to wait till I am and see what happens). Miss Amelia wanted me to write and ask if Reuben has a favorite pie recipe he would be willing to share. The pie social is coming up, and Miss Amelia is determined to win first place this year. She says that your Reuben is “a gem,” on account of he knows all about making good pies and curing the hiccups.

  Today as Possum and I were weeding the garden, we heard Darcy singing as usual out back in Widow Needly's summer kitchen. But what wasn't usual was the song she was singing. “Add two cups flour, half a cup lard, half a cup cornmeal…” It was the flapjack recipe from the widow's recipe book! Darcy, who's never been to a proper school, was reading! Miss Amelia says that down in Maryland where Jupiter and Darcy were born, it is against the law to teach a slave to read or write. Our state of Pennsylvania is free, but the trouble is there are no schools for col-oreds close by.

  Later when Nelly Hepple came over with the wool she had spun for Miss Amelia, she stopped in the yard to talk to Possum and me. I asked Nelly if she knew about Darcy's reading. She said that Darcy had been pleading to learn to read, so Nelly's older sister Hannah had been teaching her, using the family Bible. Nelly said that once Darcy got the hang of reading, she didn't want to stop.