Beautiful Chaos
Page 63
I ran my hand along the top shelf, where Amma kept all her prizewinners, the secret recipes and jars she saved for company. Everything in here was rationed, as if we were in the army and these jars were filled with penicillin or ammunition—or maybe land mines, because that’s how carefully you had to hold them.
“It’s quite a sight.” Liv was standing in the doorway behind me.
“I’m surprised Amma let you down here. This is her secret stash.”
She picked up a jar, holding it in front of her. “It’s so shiny.”
“You want your jelly to sparkle and your fruit not to float. You want your pickles cut to the same size, your carrots nice and round, your pack even.”
“My what?”
“How it goes in the jar, see?”
“Of course.” Liv smiled. “How would Amma feel if she knew you were sharing the secrets of her kitchen?”
If anyone knew them, it was me. I’d been by Amma’s side in the kitchen longer than I could remember, burning my hands on everything I wasn’t supposed to touch, sneaking rocks and twigs and all kinds of things into unsuspecting pans of preserves. “You want the liquid to cover the top of whatever’s inside.”
“Are bubbles good or bad?”
I laughed. “You’ll never see a bubble in one of Amma’s jars.”
She pointed to the bottom shelf. There was a jar so full of bubbles you’d think the bubbles themselves were what Amma was trying to bottle, instead of the cherries. I knelt down in front of the shelf and pulled it out. It was an old mason jar covered in cobwebs. I had never noticed it before.
“That can’t be Amma’s.” I rotated the jar in my hand. FROM THE KITCHEN OF PRUDENCE STATHAM. I shook my head. “It’s my Aunt Prue’s. She must have been crazier than I thought.” Nobody ever gave Amma anything that came out of another kitchen. Not if they knew what was good for them.
As I slid the jar back in place, I noticed a dirty loop of rope hanging back in the shadow of the bottom shelf.
“Hold on. What’s that?” I pulled on the rope, and the shelves made a groaning sound, like they were about to fall over. I felt around with my hand until I found the place where the rope met the wall. I pulled again, and the wood began to give way. “There’s something back here.”
“Ethan, be careful.”
The shelves swung forward slowly, revealing a second space. Behind the pantry was a secret room, with crude brick walls and a dirt floor. The room stretched back into a dark tunnel. I stepped inside.
“Is that one of the Tunnels?” Liv looked into the darkness behind me.
“I think this is a Mortal tunnel.” I glanced at Liv from the shadows of the tunnel. She looked safe and small inside the pantry, surrounded by Amma’s old rainbows caught in a jar.
I realized where I was standing. “I’ve seen pictures of hidden rooms and tunnels like these. Runaway slaves used them to leave houses at night without being seen.”
“Are you saying—?”
I nodded. “Ethan Carter Wate, or someone in his family, was part of the Underground Railroad.”
10.09
Temporis Porta
Who is Ethan Carter Wate again, exactly?” Liv asked.
“My great-great-great-great-uncle. He fought in the Civil War, then deserted because he didn’t believe it was right.”
“I remember now. Dr. Ashcroft told me the story of Ethan and Genevieve and the locket.”
For a moment, I felt guilty that Liv was here instead of Lena. Ethan and Genevieve were more than a story to me and Lena. She would’ve felt the weight of this moment.
Liv ran her hand along the wall. “And you think this could be part of the Underground Railroad?”
“You’d be surprised how many old houses in the South have a room like this.”
“If that’s true, then where does this tunnel go?” Now she was right next to me. I took an old lantern down from a nail that had been hammered between the crumbling bricks of the wall. I turned the key, and the lantern filled with light.
“How can there still be oil in there? This thing has to be a hundred and fifty years old.”
A rickety wooden bench lined one of the walls. The remains of what looked like an army-issue canteen, some kind of canvas sack, and a wool blanket were stacked neatly beneath it. They were all coated with a thick layer of dust.
“Come on. Let’s see where it leads.” I held the lantern out in front of me. All I could see was the twisting tunnel and an occasional patch of brick built into the dirt.
“Waywards. You think you can go wherever you want.” She reached up with one hand and touched the ceiling over our heads. Brown dirt rained down, and she ducked, coughing.
“Are you scared?” I nudged her with my shoulder.
Liv leaned back and yanked on the twisted loop of rope. The false door behind us closed with a sharp bang, and it was dark. “Are you?”
The tunnel dead-ended. I wouldn’t have seen the trapdoor over our heads if Liv hadn’t noticed a slice of light above us. The door hadn’t been opened in a long time, because when we pushed our way up, whole shovelfuls of dirt caved into the tunnel—and all over us.
“Where are we? Can you see?” Liv called up from below. I couldn’t get a solid foothold in the side of the dirt wall, but I managed to haul myself aboveground.
“We’re in a field on the other side of Route 9. I can see my house from here. I think this used to be my family’s field before they built the road.”
“It’s quite a sight.” Liv was standing in the doorway behind me.
“I’m surprised Amma let you down here. This is her secret stash.”
She picked up a jar, holding it in front of her. “It’s so shiny.”
“You want your jelly to sparkle and your fruit not to float. You want your pickles cut to the same size, your carrots nice and round, your pack even.”
“My what?”
“How it goes in the jar, see?”
“Of course.” Liv smiled. “How would Amma feel if she knew you were sharing the secrets of her kitchen?”
If anyone knew them, it was me. I’d been by Amma’s side in the kitchen longer than I could remember, burning my hands on everything I wasn’t supposed to touch, sneaking rocks and twigs and all kinds of things into unsuspecting pans of preserves. “You want the liquid to cover the top of whatever’s inside.”
“Are bubbles good or bad?”
I laughed. “You’ll never see a bubble in one of Amma’s jars.”
She pointed to the bottom shelf. There was a jar so full of bubbles you’d think the bubbles themselves were what Amma was trying to bottle, instead of the cherries. I knelt down in front of the shelf and pulled it out. It was an old mason jar covered in cobwebs. I had never noticed it before.
“That can’t be Amma’s.” I rotated the jar in my hand. FROM THE KITCHEN OF PRUDENCE STATHAM. I shook my head. “It’s my Aunt Prue’s. She must have been crazier than I thought.” Nobody ever gave Amma anything that came out of another kitchen. Not if they knew what was good for them.
As I slid the jar back in place, I noticed a dirty loop of rope hanging back in the shadow of the bottom shelf.
“Hold on. What’s that?” I pulled on the rope, and the shelves made a groaning sound, like they were about to fall over. I felt around with my hand until I found the place where the rope met the wall. I pulled again, and the wood began to give way. “There’s something back here.”
“Ethan, be careful.”
The shelves swung forward slowly, revealing a second space. Behind the pantry was a secret room, with crude brick walls and a dirt floor. The room stretched back into a dark tunnel. I stepped inside.
“Is that one of the Tunnels?” Liv looked into the darkness behind me.
“I think this is a Mortal tunnel.” I glanced at Liv from the shadows of the tunnel. She looked safe and small inside the pantry, surrounded by Amma’s old rainbows caught in a jar.
I realized where I was standing. “I’ve seen pictures of hidden rooms and tunnels like these. Runaway slaves used them to leave houses at night without being seen.”
“Are you saying—?”
I nodded. “Ethan Carter Wate, or someone in his family, was part of the Underground Railroad.”
10.09
Temporis Porta
Who is Ethan Carter Wate again, exactly?” Liv asked.
“My great-great-great-great-uncle. He fought in the Civil War, then deserted because he didn’t believe it was right.”
“I remember now. Dr. Ashcroft told me the story of Ethan and Genevieve and the locket.”
For a moment, I felt guilty that Liv was here instead of Lena. Ethan and Genevieve were more than a story to me and Lena. She would’ve felt the weight of this moment.
Liv ran her hand along the wall. “And you think this could be part of the Underground Railroad?”
“You’d be surprised how many old houses in the South have a room like this.”
“If that’s true, then where does this tunnel go?” Now she was right next to me. I took an old lantern down from a nail that had been hammered between the crumbling bricks of the wall. I turned the key, and the lantern filled with light.
“How can there still be oil in there? This thing has to be a hundred and fifty years old.”
A rickety wooden bench lined one of the walls. The remains of what looked like an army-issue canteen, some kind of canvas sack, and a wool blanket were stacked neatly beneath it. They were all coated with a thick layer of dust.
“Come on. Let’s see where it leads.” I held the lantern out in front of me. All I could see was the twisting tunnel and an occasional patch of brick built into the dirt.
“Waywards. You think you can go wherever you want.” She reached up with one hand and touched the ceiling over our heads. Brown dirt rained down, and she ducked, coughing.
“Are you scared?” I nudged her with my shoulder.
Liv leaned back and yanked on the twisted loop of rope. The false door behind us closed with a sharp bang, and it was dark. “Are you?”
The tunnel dead-ended. I wouldn’t have seen the trapdoor over our heads if Liv hadn’t noticed a slice of light above us. The door hadn’t been opened in a long time, because when we pushed our way up, whole shovelfuls of dirt caved into the tunnel—and all over us.
“Where are we? Can you see?” Liv called up from below. I couldn’t get a solid foothold in the side of the dirt wall, but I managed to haul myself aboveground.
“We’re in a field on the other side of Route 9. I can see my house from here. I think this used to be my family’s field before they built the road.”
